Chapter 65

“Are you going to do the interview?” Avery asked, her voice barely audible above the cafe’s hum as I waved goodbye to a regular customer. I lingered after they left, trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“Interview?” I asked, my mind still on the pile of tasks I needed to complete, not fully registering her words until the realization hit me. “Oh, for the new pastry chef. Are they coming in today?”

“Yes. Three of them,” Avery said, glancing at the schedule on the counter, her eyes scanning the list before returning to me. She was already on edge; I could tell from her stiff shoulders and the furrow in her brow.

“Well, can you handle it?” I asked, glancing at the kitchen. There was already too much work. It would be good if I could just stay and help. Sips and Stories had been a massive hit with customers, and Connor wanted to discuss expanding the brand to other locations.

“Of course I can,” Avery said, though there was a strain in her voice. “Besides, don’t you have a meeting scheduled with Connor Warren today?”

“Yes,” I replied, my stomach tightening at the thought of the looming meeting. My to-do list had already doubled, and this morning had only just begun. “I’m going to his office straight from here. I just wanted to drop by and check how things are running.”

“He’s going to need more staff,” she said, not looking up from the list, but her words hit me like a slap. I had been so busy with this partnership and everything else. She was doing my part of the job as well, which was incredibly stressful. The strain in her voice was unmistakable.

“I know,” I said, my chest tightening. It wasn’t just about the staff—it was everything piling up, day after day. “Just put out another advertisement. You find the right people, and I’ll hire them. And we’ll talk about your raise first thing tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Yes. Now go away,” she muttered, smiling almost dismissively, as if she knew she would refuse. Avery didn’t care much for money. She was a single woman in her mid-thirties with no family. She just loved her job. But this time, I was going to convince her to accept a raise. She could take a nice vacation or buy something nice—anything she wished for. She had earned it.

“Okay,” I said, half-smiling, already turning toward the door.

But then, just as I stepped forward, the familiar weight of dread settled on my shoulders. The door swung open again, and my heart froze as I saw who walked in.

There he was.

The person I never wanted to see again.

My breath caught in my throat, and I stopped, every muscle in my body tensing. My stomach churned at the sight of the man I had once shared a life with.

“Hi, Freya,” he said, his voice too casual, too smooth, as if nothing had changed. As if nothing had ever happened.

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” I asked, my voice tight, my pulse hammering.

“I came to talk to you,” His voice, as always, was calm and measured, but underneath, I could feel a desperation, even if it wasn’t obvious to everyone else.

I shook my head, unwilling to entertain the possibility of any conversation with him. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“Please, just hear me out,” he said, his tone almost pleading, but I could see impatience simmering behind his eyes. His posture was tense—he wasn’t just here for innocent conversation. And I had no interest in whatever he had to say.

“Get out of here,” I said, my voice low, a warning more than a plea. My heart was racing, and every instinct told me to walk away, to escape, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen, trapped between who I used to be and the woman I was now.

“I went to the opening of Sips and Stories,” he said, his words tumbling out too quickly, as if he thought they might make a difference. And they did. It triggered a painful memory.

I could feel the walls closing in. The mention of that night—the night I tried to forget—brought a familiar ache deep in my chest. I was right. It wasn’t stress, or alcohol. I had seen him there; it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

“I saw you. What the hell do you want?” I asked before a more troubling thought occurred to me. “Are you following me?”

His words turned desperate, his voice defensive, as if he didn’t want to admit what was happening. “No,” he blurted, almost too quickly, shaking his head. The wild look in his eyes gave him away—he wasn’t there by accident. “I just… look, I need to talk to you quickly.”

“Make it quick,” I snapped, my patience already exhausted. I didn’t want him here. The sooner he was gone, the better.

“I need some money,” he said, his voice almost flat, the words hanging in the air like a slap.

I stared at him, unsure whether I’d heard him correctly. “Sorry, what?” My breath caught in my throat. His earlier behavior, suggesting something important, was this it? Did he seriously think I’d help him after everything?

“Your boyfriend threw me out of my job and made sure I couldn’t find work anywhere in the States,” he said, the bitterness dripping from his words, and I felt a flash of anger.

I wanted to scream at him. It’s not my fault you screwed up your life. But instead, I tightened my grip on the counter. “I borrowed money from some men,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “But they’re dangerous, and I need to pay them back.”

“That’s completely your problem,” I shot back, each word colder than the last. My hands were shaking, but I clenched my fists to stop them. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I know your business is doing well,” he said, his gaze flicking around the café, almost too aware of my success. “You’ve taken on such big collaborations. You’re making the big bucks. You have to help me.”

The audacity of it. He was delusional. My blood boiled.

“I have to?” My voice was low and controlled, but underneath, fury simmered. “I don’t have to do fucking anything.”

“You do,” he insisted, his voice raising slightly. “It’s your fault that I’m in this position.”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. But inside, something snapped. I wasn’t the same person who let him manipulate me before. “Oh, no,” I said, my voice icy. “Absolutely not. You brought this on yourself. I didn’t ask you to hit me, did I? So I have no obligation to help you.”

“Look, I’m saying please,” he said, his voice softening, trying to use our past relationship. But it felt hollow, like a cheap trick. “We were together for two years. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“No, it doesn’t,” I said, my heart pounding. He had the nerve to use our relationship to try and create some sentimental ground. Pathetic. “Now get out.”

“Get the hell out!” I interrupted, my voice sharp as a blade. The tremor in my hands betrayed me, but my words were firm. “Or I’m going to call security.”

The cafe was busy; many customers were having breakfast or coffee. Some had overheard our conversation, but I was past caring about the impression it created. My only concern was getting him out.

His face twisted with rage. “Stupid bitch!” he muttered, storming out.

The door slammed shut, and I let out a shaky breath, the tension slowly unraveling.

“Freya,” Avery’s voice called softly. She was watching me, her expression a mix of concern and wariness.

“I’m okay,” I said, though the words felt hollow. I was anything but okay. I was a nervous wreck, trying to suppress the bad thoughts that followed, the nagging feeling that no matter how much I wished it, this wasn’t the last time I would see him.