I take a step to the center of the room, in his direction.
“I never left.” An edge is in my voice.
He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “No. That’s not right.”
He looks to my daughter, who has climbed onto the long bench by the window, pulling her pretend baking dough out of the bags. Tabby moves to Coco and twists her long brunette curls into a cute little bun on her head. My daughter starts to sing one of her made-up songs as she pats the dough in her small hands.
She’s pretending to be me. She’s always pretending to be me, and I watch as his expression turns slowly to confusion and then anger. My teeth clench and all the past is consumed in a tidal wave of protective rage rolling through my chest.
“It’s time for you to go.” My voice is level, and his eyes are back on mine. I’m not smiling. “I don’t know why you’re in Oceanside, but there’s nothing for you here. Not anymore.”
The words twist pain in my stomach, and I watch as he passes a large hand over his mouth. The muscle in his jaw flexes, and he puts the cap back on his head, going to the door. It’s only then that I recognize the faded jeans, the beat up gray tee… the cap. He’s the man working for Wyatt.
Why the hell would he be working for Wyatt?
He’s through the door and out of my bakery just as I sink to my knees, then to my butt, right there on the floor in the middle of my shop.
Tabby runs to me, dropping to sit in front of me. Her green eyes are round, and she’s holding both of my hands as the waves of emotion rise and fall, crashing and churning in my chest.
“Jackson’s back,” she says.
“He’s painting the building.”
Painting…
My eyes slide closed, and the tears fall.
Seven
Jack
Storming out of her shop in a rage, I almost flatten Wyatt standing on the porch unlocking his door. “Sorry,” I growl, hopping off the walkway and onto the street.
“Where you going?” he calls after me.
“I’ll be right back.” I’m walking fast in the direction of the cottage.
I’m furious, but I can’t put my finger on one single reason why.
I’d walked up to the door for a courtesy call—just to let the business owner know I would be painting and setting up scaffolding.
Just to give a heads up.
When I’d seen Tabby inside with the little girl, I’d gone in and been greeted with a repeat performance of Saturday night—inexplicable bitchiness. I wasn’t putting up with it anymore, and I told her as much…
Then everything changed.
Ember walked in the room looking like everything good in the world I’d ever lost as a nervous teen starting out on my own in a new city. She was the only dream I’d ever wanted. She was the only thing I’d ever regretted leaving behind, and she was just as beautiful as ever.
Her dark hair hung in waves around her shoulders. Her brown eyes flecked with caramel held mine. Her body was covered up by some brown apron-thing, but her slim arms were bare, her long legs were bare… Her skin was still so smooth. She was still so damn perfect, my fingers longed to touch her.
Slamming open the door to the cottage, I snatch the phone off the base and hit call back. It rings twice before my father answers.
“Randall speaking,” he says, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
“It’s me, Jackson.”
“Oh, hello, son, what’s on your mind?”