Page 22 of ICED
I glance down at my shoulder. It’s still a little stiff, but better than yesterday. Mia said I was healing well, which felt like a small victory. The guys had kept their distance on the ice this morning, and that mix of frustration and relief is something I’m still figuring out how to handle.
Maya catches my eye and gives a small, tight smile. There’s something in the way she moves that’s guarded, careful, and that makes me want to reach out but also makes me hesitate. I’m learning to tread lightly around her.
“Afternoon, Mr Bear,” Lila chirps, glancing up at me. She’s already slipped into that sweet little nickname like it’s hers to give.
“Hey, Lila,” I say, crouching down to her level. “What’s the experiment today?”
She grins. “Sprinkles. I’m making a rainbow.” She dumps a handful onto her plate, watching the colours scatter.
I’m struck again by how small she is and how fiercely protective I feel. She’s like a little flame, bright and fragile, and I’m desperate to keep her safe.
Maya clears her throat behind the counter. “Owen, can you help with the orders? We’re expecting a delivery soon.”
“Of course.” I head over, trying not to stare too long at her.
The rhythm of the bakery is steady and soothing. The clatter of trays, the whirr of the mixer, the soft thud of dough being kneaded. It’s a different kind of teamwork from the rink, but it feels just as important.
Between batches, Maya tells me about a new recipe she’s been testing, a kind of lemon drizzle cake with a hint of lavender. “It’s experimental,” she says, a flicker of excitement breaking through her usual reserve.
“Sounds amazing,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual but honest. “You’ve got a real knack for this.”
She shrugs, but the corner of her mouth twitches like she wants to smile.
There’s a moment, just a flicker, when I think maybe I’m starting to get through. But then the door opens, and a couple walks in, chatting loudly and laughing without a care in the world.
Maya tenses. Her eyes flick to the door, then to me, and I see the tension snap back into place. She’s scanning, always scanning, like she’s expecting something or someone to come crashing through.
I want to ask, but I don’t know how.
Lila toddles over to me, her hand slipping into mine. “Mr Bear, can you help me with the rainbow?”
I nod, squeezing her fingers gently. “I’m your bear, and bears are good helpers.”
Her smile makes the ache in my chest a little sharper and a little softer all at once.
The afternoon rolls on in a comforting blur. I peel open boxes of flour and sugar, wipe down counters, and slide trays of warm bread into the display case. Maya moves with precision and quiet grace, but there’s a tension beneath it, like she’s carrying something heavy inside.
During a lull, I catch her eye and nod toward Lila, who’s now sprawled on the floor playing with her toy car. “You’ve got a hell of a team here.”
Maya smiles softly, almost shyly. “They keep me sane.”
“Looks like you’ve got a couple of little managers too.”
She laughs, a real one this time, but it fades quickly. “Yeah, they keep me on my toes.”
I want to say something comforting, something that lets her know she’s not alone, but the words don’t come. Instead, I just nod, hoping it’s enough.
Later, as I’m wiping down the counters, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a message from Ollie, probably checking in on my shoulder or wanting to know if I’m up for a beer tonight. I ignore it for a moment, watching Maya watch the street through the front window.
There’s a flicker of movement in her eyes, something I can’t quite place. Fear? Caution? A memory she’s trying to keep locked away?
I clear my throat. “You okay?”
She startles, like she wasn’t expecting me to notice. “Yeah,” she says quickly, but I don’t believe her.
The door jingles again, and a delivery guy steps inside with a big box of fresh produce. Maya thanks him and starts sorting through the crates.
I watch her hands, they’re steady, efficient, but with a slight tremor, and I realise how much she’s carrying beneath the surface. I want to reach out, to say,You don’t have to do this alone.But instead, I busy myself stacking bread and wiping flour dust off the counter, pretending not to notice the worry shadowing her face.
