Page 7 of The Hang Up
Lena is behind the counter, her back to me as she slides a tray of cupcakes into the display case. She’s wearing one of those cute aprons with little cupcakes on it, her hair tied up in the same loose bun she always wore in high school. She looks messy and beautiful and completely her.
My chest tightens at the sight of her.
God, I missed her.
She turns when she hears the bell and freezes for a fraction of a second when she sees me. It’s barely noticeable, but I catch it. The little hitch in her step. The way her hand curls tighter around the tray.
Then she pastes on a polite smile, one that doesn’t meet her eyes, and straightens.
“Welcome to Clay & Cupcakes.” Her voice is smooth but distant. “What can I get for you today?”
I swallow hard. “Morning. I, uh… just came by to grab a few pastries.”
She nods, already moving toward the counter.
“We’ve got scones, muffins, cupcakes, and Danishes. Everything’s fresh.”
“I’ll take a raspberry scone,” I say quietly.
Her hands don’t falter, but her eyes flick to mine for half a second. My stomach kicks against my ribs at the contact.
“Anything else?”
I should say no, take the damn scone and go, but I’m not ready for this moment to be over.
“Maybe a muffin,” I add. “Whatever’s your favorite.”
That gets a pause. Her brows lift slightly, like she’s trying to decide if it’s worth responding. Finally, she says, “Blueberry lemon.”
“Then I’ll take one of those, too.”
She boxes up the treats in silence. I try not to stare, but when she brushes flour from her cheek with the back of her hand, I freeze.
She always used to do that. Every time we baked together, she’d get flour on her cheek and pretend not to notice until I kissed it off.
My hands curl at my sides, itching to reach out and touch her. Brush my fingers over her jaw and remind her of who we used to be.
But I don’t because I lost that right.
She snaps the lid closed and slides the box across the counter.
“That’ll be seven-fifty.”
I dig out my wallet and hand her a ten. She gives me change without a word.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice rougher than I’d like. “It’s good to see you.”
She doesn’t reply. Just gives me a tight, angry smile and turns away, effectively dismissing me.
I walk out with my tail between my legs and pastries I don’t even want.
I don’t know what I expected. That she’d suddenly be warm and welcoming? That a muffin might remind her of the love letters I used to leave in her locker?
I’m such an idiot.
I turn the corner and spot two familiar figures heading my way on the sidewalk. Auden and Arlowe are a block away, their heads bowed, deep in conversation.
They see me at the same time, both of them slowing. Arlowe tilts her head, and Auden’s eyes narrow slightly. They’re not unkind, but they’re not thrilled to see me either.
