Chapter 10

FREYA

“Well, what can I get you?” I straightened my shoulders, but couldn't manage a professional smile. My fingers trembled slightly as I adjusted my apron, hoping my face didn't betray my exhaustion. Just another customer, I told myself, but something about him made my skin prickle.

“What would you recommend?” His voice was low and smooth, catching me off guard. He hadn't even glanced at the shelves, and the confidence in his tone unsettled me. His presence was unnerving, not threateningly so, but his eyes held mine steadily, as though he saw more than he should. I wouldn't have expected him to ask for suggestions. Aiden looked like someone who knew exactly what he wanted; his tailored suit, sharp eyes, and aura of self-assurance screamed control.

I swallowed hard. Why did this feel like more than a simple transaction? I fumbled for a response, feeling awkward under his gaze. “T-the croissants are good. Or you could try the salted caramel cookies.” My voice was far too high-pitched, like I was a teenager again, fumbling through my first part-time job.

“I’ll take both. Ten of each.” His voice was decisive. I almost flinched at the speed of his decision, his hands casually thrust into his pockets, as if he hadn't just ordered enough pastries to feed an office.

I chuckled, mostly to calm my nerves. “That’s a little more than a bite.” I regretted the words instantly. I didn't want to sound flirty, but the way he was looking at me—as if my discomfort amused him—made me feel warm. He rubbed his jaw, his fingers grazing his stubble, and smiled—a small, almost imperceptible, but dangerously alluring smile. The audacity of it!

My breath hitched. As I processed his payment, I realized my hands were shaking. Why was I so worked up? He was just another customer. But the tension between us was undeniable, palpable, unnerving.

I was about to hand him his pastries when a sweet, high voice sliced through the silence:

“Mommy!”

My heart lurched. Panic seized me. Not now, not here. Oh God, not now. Aiden’s eyes darted to the door, where Gia bounded out. I froze. My fingers clenched the pastry bag so tightly my knuckles turned white. I couldn't turn to face her, but I heard her approaching, each footstep sending a fresh wave of anxiety.

“I brought you a tart.”

Aiden looked back at me, confusion briefly flickering across his face. I felt breathless. If I didn't regain control, I'd lose it. Gia’s hand, holding the tart, was outstretched; her bright smile was in my peripheral vision. I forced myself to relax.

“Thank you, sweetie, but I’ll have it later. Not hungry right now.” My voice cracked. Hunger was the furthest thing from my mind. All I could think about was how utterly screwed I was.

Gia’s innocent pout didn’t help. My oblivious child had no idea what she’d walked into. She turned her curious gaze to Aiden, and for several agonizing seconds, they stared at each other.

Those were the longest seconds of my life. The room seemed to close in; my vision tunneled. Could he tell? Could he see it? I focused on breathing, but I was trembling.

“Hi, there! What’s your name?” Aiden crouched to her level, his voice suddenly warm, a stark contrast to his earlier commanding tone. His entire demeanor shifted. His smile was gentle.

“Gia,” she said after a brief hesitation, her tiny voice sounding small compared to the weight of the moment. The word “stranger” screamed in my head, reminding me of every warning I’d given her. Stranger. Father. The contradiction made me nauseous. How could this kindly man be her father, yet a stranger to her?

“That’s a beautiful name,” Aiden said softly, and my stomach twisted. They looked so alike. Their smiles, the crinkling at the corners of their eyes, the shade of brown in their gaze—it was too much.

“I would love one of those tarts, of course, if your Mom doesn’t mind you giving it to me.”

Then both their eyes—so similar, so eerily familiar—swung to me. I wanted to scream.

"Mommy, can I give it to him!"

I blinked, swallowing my panic. My brain screamed at me to get her out of there, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

“Yeah, I’ll get a fresh one for him,” I said automatically, but my voice felt distant. I wasn’t in control.

“No, I’ll take that,” Aiden said, his gaze unwavering. He wanted that tart—the one she touched, held in her small hand, a symbol of her innocence and connection to me. My mind spun. Why?

I nodded, too stunned to argue. As I handed him the tart, I caught a flicker of something in his eyes—recognition? Doubt? It was gone instantly.

“No—um—that’s a gift? From her,” I stammered.

“Then I must thank you for it!” His voice was kind, directed at Gia, and she giggled, her laughter cutting through the tension, but not enough to soothe the storm inside me.

“You’re welcome. Will you come here again?” Gia’s voice was soft, hopeful, and my heart clenched. I couldn’t let this happen.

He smiled, ruffling her hair gently. “I will, sweetheart.”

My chest tightened at his gentleness, the way he made it sound like a promise. I watched them, feeling the ground shift beneath me, the balance of my life unraveling.

Aiden turned back to me, his expression unreadable as he buttoned his jacket. His fingers brushed mine as he took the bag. I searched his face, desperate to see if he knew, but he gave nothing away.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said quietly. With one last lingering glance, he left, the door closing with a soft click that felt like a death knell.

The moment he left, reality crashed back. The cafe noise hit me—the clatter of dishes, the murmur of conversations, the hum of traffic. It was deafening.

I was falling apart.