Baked in Evergreen is more than just a bakery—it’s Ellie Tate’s second home, where gentle morning light mingles with the aroma of cinnamon rolls and endless possibilities. Run by her and Faye’s aunt, this bakery has been a beloved part of Evergreen for years, nestled on a corner where Main Street meets the park. But it’s Ellie who breathes life into it.

Her aunt, a nurturing and free-spirited figure who acts more as a mentor than a supervisor, entrusts Ellie with every aspect—from opening the shop at dawn to creating the chalkboard specials and designing the seasonal displays. She handed Ellie the reins not only because she required assistance but also because she recognized how Ellie’s spirit soared when she had the opportunity to make her mark.

Ellie manages the daily operations with a quiet sense of accomplishment. She oversees the schedules, trains the new team members, experiments with rotating pastry options, and ensures that every part of the shop exudes the same cozy charm that resides within her. The floral curtains and checkered tablecloths? That’s Ellie’s influence. Is the playlist filled with acoustic covers and vintage love songs? Also curated by Ellie.

While Faye seldom steps behind the counter, she’s a steady presence—stopping by for a coffee, playfully teasing Ellie about her flour-covered apron, and supporting her when the burden of responsibility feels overwhelming. Their aunt observes the scene with quiet pride, delighted that something built from love continues to be nurtured with care.

At Baked in Evergreen, Ellie isn’t merely clocking in. She’s crafting something genuine—warm, sincere, and entirely her own.

Here’s a charming and cozy menu for Baked in Evergreen, tailored to its inviting, small-town vibe and Ellie’s warm, classic style:

Baked in Evergreen Menu


Bagels – Made Fresh Daily

Served plain, toasted, or with your choice of spread
• Plain
• Everything
• Poppy Seed
• Cinnamon Raisin
• Cheddar Jalapeņo
• Blueberry

Spreads:
• Classic Cream Cheese
• Honey Walnut
• Herb & Chive
• Strawberry Jam
• Whipped Butter

Signature Sandwiches

All served on house-baked breads or bagels
• The Evergreen Club – Turkey, bacon, avocado, tomato, lettuce, garlic aioli
• Ellie’s Favorite – Roasted veggies, hummus, feta, and spinach on multigrain
• Mountain Melt – Ham, cheddar, caramelized onions, Dijon, grilled to perfection
• Spring Chicken – Grilled chicken, pesto, mozzarella, tomato on ciabatta
• Breakfast Bliss – Egg, cheddar, bacon or sausage on a toasted bagel

Artisan Pizzas (available after 11AM)

Personal-sized with hand-tossed crusts
• Margherita – Fresh mozzarella, tomato, basil
• The Woodsman – Sausage, mushrooms, caramelized onion, garlic oil
• Garden Delight – Zucchini, bell pepper, red onion, goat cheese
• Spicy Evergreen – Pepperoni, jalapeņo, red sauce, crushed red pepper

Baked Goods & Sweets

• Daily Muffins (blueberry, banana nut, chocolate chip)
• Cinnamon Rolls with Vanilla Glaze
• Buttery Croissants
• Seasonal Fruit Tarts
• Chocolate Chip Cookies
• Shortbread Stars

Beverages

• Drip Coffee (house blend or hazelnut vanilla)
• Espresso & Lattes
• Chai or Matcha Latte
• Hot Chocolate with Whipped Cream
• Iced Coffee / Cold Brew
• Fresh Lemonade
• Herbal Teas

The last light in Baked in Evergreen flickered low, washing the bakery in a honey-colored hush that clung to the edges of every chair leg and countertop. Ellie moved slowly, not out of exhaustion but because she liked the stillness. The way everything softened when the day was done—flour dust in the air, the scent of cinnamon still clinging to her sleeves, and the quiet hum of the cooler in the corner.

She flipped the final chair and wiped down the last table. Outside, the town was already folding into itself for the evening, streetlights stretching sleepy shadows across the sidewalk. The usual playlist had long since stopped. Aunt Marg had gone home hours ago, trusting Ellie—like she always did—to close up solo.

It had been a quiet day. A simple one. Full of the usual chatter from familiar faces, the predictable rhythms of espresso pulls and pastry restocks. Nothing loud. Nothing that stuck—except the ache she tried not to name.

She hadn’t seen Tyler.

And that mattered more than she wanted to admit.

It wasn’t that she expected him to show up, exactly. He hadn’t promised he would. But still, she’d found herself glancing at the door around two when it got quiet. Then again, just after four, when the afternoon lull set in. Hoping for nothing more than his voice. A look. A sign that the effort he talked about wasn’t just talk.

And he didn’t come.

Which was fine. It was. She didn’t need him to come charging in with grand apologies and promises to rewrite every mistake. She just… wanted to see it. To know that the trying wasn’t just words.

She moved to the front counter, folded her apron with practiced care, and laid it gently on the shelf below. Her fingers hovered over the key hook, her heart ticking louder than it had all day.

Then—

Knock knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

Ellie froze.

It wasn’t the wind. Not this time.

She turned slowly toward the door, her breath catching as she moved into view of the window.

Tyler.

He stood just beyond the glass, backlit by the streetlamp, looking both entirely out of place and exactly right in the quiet warmth of the evening. His flannel was rumpled, his curls slightly damp from the lingering spring drizzle. In one hand, he held a grease-stained takeout bag. On the other—a modest bouquet of grocery store flowers. Daisies, baby’s breath, and one hopeful pink tulip with a bent stem.

He didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Just waited.

Ellie stared at him for a moment, unsure if he was real. Suppose she’d conjured him out of hope or memory or maybe both.

Then, quietly, she reached for the lock and opened the door.

He hadn’t meant to show up this late.
Scratch that—he had.

There was something about catching her at the end of the day, when her armor was off and the world was quiet, that felt like the only shot he had of not screwing this up worse than he already had. He didn’t do grand gestures, not really. He did showing up with fries and bad timing. He did sarcasm and second chances wrapped in crooked smiles.

And Ellie always saw through that. God, that girl could gut him with a look.

He stood in front of Baked in Evergreen like an idiot—hair damp, hoodie under flannel, smelling vaguely of rain and motor oil. His sneakers were already soaked through, and he hadn’t even realized he was holding the flowers too tight until the tulip stem snapped in half. Figures.

She was there—inside—moving like she always did when she thought no one was watching. Slow. Precise. Like she wanted to honor the quiet. He loved that about her. Hated how much he loved that about her. It made everything else about her hit harder.

He knocked.

Twice. Soft. Like he was asking for permission just to hope again.

And when she turned, when her eyes met his through the window, he felt that familiar ache slam into his chest like a freight train. Because that was Ellie. Hair pinned back in a loose knot, sleeves rolled up, cheeks pink from a day full of sugar and steam. She looked tired. She looked beautiful. She looked like home, and God help him, he didn’t know how to be the guy who didn’t burn it down.

She opened the door but didn’t say anything. Just looked at him, like maybe she hadn’t decided yet if she was going to let him in all the way.

So he leaned against the doorframe, all faux-casual and rain-slick charm, holding up the sad little bouquet like it was a peace offering from a war he definitely started.

“Okay, so,” he started, voice a little rough, “these were prettier before I wrestled them away from a kid in the Safeway parking lot. Kidding. Kind of.” A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t close the door either.

“I brought fries,” he added, lifting the takeout bag. “Your favorite. The ones with the stupid truffle oil that you say you hate but always finish before I do.”

Still no response.

Tyler exhaled, the mask slipping a little. “Look, El. I know I’m the guy who bails when it gets hard. I know I’ve been acting like a complete dick because I didn’t know how to say I was scared without sounding weak. But I miss you. I missed you all day.”

He stepped closer, just enough that she could feel the warmth off him, see the way his knuckles were white around the bouquet.

“You said talk to you. So I’m talking. I freaked out because I didn’t want to ruin this—and that’s exactly what I did. Which is pretty on brand for me.”

She stared at him.

He soaked through, his shoulders hunched like he had already expected the door to close in his face. He looked smaller like this. Not physically—he still took up too much space, still filled the doorway with his presence even when he tried not to—but emotionally like a boy who’d finally run out of places to hide.

Ellie let the silence stretch.

Her heart thudded loudly and slowly, the ache that had taken root weeks ago and never left. The kind that didn’t scream. The kind that settled in quietly and waited to see if he’d come back differently.

“You’re really bad at this,” she said finally. Her voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t angry. It was just… tired.

She looked at the flowers, the way he gripped them too tight, the tulip bent at the neck like it had given up halfway home. She didn’t take them. Not yet.

“You disappeared for three days,” she continued. “No call. No text. Not even one of those stupid, half-assed emojis you send when trying to pretend you’re fine.”

Her arms folded across her chest. Not defensively. To hold herself together.

“I waited. Sat up until two in the morning—twice. I'm checking my phone and wondering if maybe I did something. If maybe I expected too much. If it was me again.”

Her voice caught, but she didn’t stop.

“And then you show up now. Like this.” She gestured at him—soggy, smirking, tulip-wielding Tyler. “Like it’s supposed to be romantic. It makes up for everything you couldn’t say when it mattered.”

Ellie stepped back just a little. Enough to breathe.

“You keep thinking effort looks like flowers and fries. But effort is showing up when it’s hard. It’s saying something when you don’t want to. It’s texting back, even to say, ‘I don’t have the words yet.’ It’s… not leaving me in the dark and expecting me to stay lit up.”

The drizzle outside had softened to a mist, and for a moment, the bakery behind her felt like a world apart. It was warm, safe, and hers.

“I’m not some girl you get to keep in your pocket for when the world gets too quiet. I’m not the reward for you finally deciding to try. I’m me. I’ve been here. The question is—do you want to be?”

She held the door, hand resting against the frame. Her heart cracked open quietly.

She didn’t beg.
She didn’t cry.
She just waited.

And this time, it was up to him.

Well. Shit.

She wasn’t going to make this easy.

And honestly? He didn’t blame her.

Ellie in the doorway was every inch the girl he’d spent three days trying not to write a message to. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he knew it wouldn’t be enough. And God, she looked so tired of him. Not angry. Worse. Worn-out. Worn-through.

He adjusted his grip on the bag and the flowers like either might anchor him, even though both were pitiful now. He could feel his hair clinging to the back of his neck, rain still dripping off the end of one curl like punctuation. She wasn’t impressed by the tragic poetry of it. Not tonight.

“You know,” he said, voice sliding out smooth like velvet and mischief, “I had this whole speech planned. Something about the rain and longing and how this tulip really symbolizes my emotional growth. It was gonna be good. Like—Academy Award level.”

She didn’t laugh.

Tough crowd.

Tyler exhaled, one hand sweeping his soaked curls back with practiced flair. “But then you opened the door and started talking and—damn, El. You always did know how to cut right to the jugular.”

He smiled, slow and crooked, like a man standing on the edge of his own bad habits. “You’re right. I disappeared. And you deserve a hell of a lot better than some half-wilted grocery store bouquet and a boy who thinks showing up late is the same thing as showing up at all.”

He stepped just inside the frame—not past it, just close enough for the truth to smell like sugar and regret.

“But I missed you.” His voice lowered, almost reverent. “Not just missed. I ached for you. And yeah, I know—I should’ve said something. Called. Texted. Sent a smoke signal or hired a skywriter or I don’t know… tattooed your name on my forehead.”

The smallest twitch at her mouth. Not a smile. But not nothing.

“I didn’t know what to say. That’s the truth. I didn’t know how to explain the part of me that still thinks everything good is just waiting to leave once it figures me out. So I froze. Like I always do. And then I looked up and it’d been three days, and you—” his voice cracked just slightly, “you were probably already writing the ending.”

He held up the flowers again. This time like a confession, not a charm.

“I don’t expect fries and daisies to fix it. I just… I wanted to remind you I do remember. That I know you like the fries with the crisp edges and the songs that make your heart hurt. That you hate waiting—but you always do anyway. For people. For me. And you shouldn’t have to.”

He looked down, then up—eyes sincere beneath the cocky boy exterior he wore like armor.

“I want to be the guy who doesn’t run. I just… don’t know how yet.”

A pause. Heavy. Honest.

“But I want to learn. If you’ll still let me.”

The bakery behind her still glowed warm. A whole world he’d been too dumb to protect. She hadn’t let him in yet. Not really.

But she hadn’t closed the door either.

And in Tyler’s book, that was something like hope.

She didn’t say anything at first.

I just looked at him—drenched, pathetic, trying so damn hard not to ruin this moment by wanting too much. And maybe, for once, he wasn’t trying to charm her. Maybe it wasn’t a game. Maybe it was just him, standing there with his broken bouquet and the weight of everything he hadn’t said when it mattered.

And God, part of her hated how much she wanted to believe him.

She could still feel it—the ache of three days of silence. The way it crept in during quiet hours at the bakery, during closing, when the door didn’t open, her phone didn’t buzz, and no one said his name except in her head. It had been louder than any fight. It's more final than a slammed door.

But now, here he was. Late. Dripping rain onto the mat. Carrying fries and flowers like they were penance.

Ellie’s arms stayed crossed, not because she was cold—but because she held back everything in her chest that wanted to fold into him. And not because she forgave him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t beg. Didn’t apologize again.

And that silence—that stillness—felt different than before. Not empty. Not avoidant.

It felt like surrender.

Maybe he finally understood that love wasn’t about showing up when it was easy or after the damage had already been done. It was about being there when it was messy. When you were scared. When you weren’t sure if you were enough, but you stayed anyway.

She watched him.

The water dripped from his curls. The way his shoulders sagged like he was holding more than regret—the stupid, wilting tulip.

And it hit her—not all at once, but like a slow thaw.

He hadn’t come to fix it.

He’d come because he wanted to try.

Ellie’s hand moved before her heart could catch up, fingers wrapping around the doorframe, pulling it open just slightly.

Not a lot. Just enough for him to understand she wasn’t walking away. Not tonight.

She stepped back without a word, turned toward the dim light of the bakery, and left the door open behind her.

And if he followed—

Well.

That would be up to him.

He stood there for one breath. Then another.

And when her fingers curled around the door—when she stepped back into the warm glow of the bakery and left the space open behind her—it felt like being offered a second chance with both hands, even if it was wrapped in silence and thorns.

So he followed.

Quietly. Carefully. Like if he moved too fast, she might vanish altogether. The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality, muting the sound of the rain. The room smelled like sugar and cinnamon and something so achingly Ellie, it almost knocked the wind out of him.

She didn’t turn around. Didn’t say anything.

God, she was beautiful when she was mad at him. Beautiful in a way that made him want to ruin every plan he had just to keep her looking at him like that—even if her eyes were tired, even if her arms were crossed like a barricade. There was still fire in her. Still a part of her that hadn’t stopped hoping he’d get his act together.

Tyler took a slow step forward, then another, until he was close enough to set the soggy flowers gently on the counter. The fries came next, still warm in the bag, still exactly how she liked them. Crispy. Salted. A little dramatic.

“Okay,” he said finally, the corner of his mouth twitching into something cocky and familiar. “I know. I know. I look like the ghost of boyfriends past. Or, like, the sad wet dog version of Ryan Gosling in The Notebook, minus the actual emotional maturity.”

He flashed her the grin. That grin. The one that got him out of almost everything. The one that said ‘Yeah, I’m trouble, but don’t you kind of love me for it?’

“No one tells you flowers wilt faster when you sprint four blocks in the rain,” he added, eyeing the bent tulip with mock tragedy. “Honestly, it’s cruel. They should come with a warning: ‘Not intended for dramatic late-night apologies.’”

Still, she didn’t speak.

So he tried again.

“Ellie…” He stepped into her space just slightly—enough for the air between them to shift, warm and buzzing. “You know I’m not great with words when I actually mean them, so I figured I’d go with what I’m good at. Grand entrances. Cheap snacks. And devastatingly good hair, even when soaked.”

He gave his curls a dramatic toss and let his voice drop just enough to flirt. “I mean, if nothing else… I came bearing carbs. Doesn’t that at least earn me, like, a small slice of forgiveness pie?”

Silence. Tension.

And still, he kept going—because this was what Tyler did. When he didn’t know how to ask for love, he tried to charm it out of people. And right now? He’d burn through every one-liner in his arsenal if it meant pulling even a flicker of a smile from her.

“I missed you,” he said, softer now, still smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes the same way. “Even when I was being an idiot. Especially then.”

He took one more step, voice low, teasing but raw beneath it.

“You gonna yell at me now, or are you gonna sit with me and steal all the crispy fries like you always do?”

A pause.

“Your call, Ellie. I already chose you.”

“Put the fries on the table,” she said, finally turning to face him. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, landed on the takeout bag in his hand. “And step back like you’re defusing a bomb.”

She didn’t move toward him. Didn’t soften. She stood there, arms folded over her chest, her back still kissed by the warm light from the bakery’s overhead sconces. The glow made her look soft—almost ethereal—but the fire in her eyes canceled out any illusion of fragility.

“Do not smirk at me,” she snapped before he even had the chance, narrowing her gaze in the way she did when she saw right through him—past the charm, wet curls, and the half-hearted jokes. “You don’t get to joke your way out of this one.”

Her steps were slow and controlled as she moved behind the counter, brushing past the flowers he’d set there like they were just another mess she’d have to clean up later.

“Tyler, I swear,” she said, tugging her cardigan tighter around her ribs like armor, “if you say one more vaguely self-deprecating thing with that sad puppy grin, I will throw a cinnamon roll at your face. And it won’t be one of the soft ones.”

She didn’t smile. But her hand twitched toward the pastry case like she almost meant it.

“…God,” she muttered, the air shifting slightly, “I hate how good those fries smell.”

She reached for the bag, flipped it open, and stole one without waiting. Crispy, hot, exactly how she liked them. Of course, he remembered. He always remembered.

But memory wasn’t the same as showing up.

“I didn’t say sit down,” she warned, her voice sharp again as she caught him inching toward the nearest stool.

“I didn’t say I’m not mad.”

Her words fell like steady drops in the quiet. The hum of the cooler filled the silence between them, punctuated by the occasional snap of fryer paper as she picked at the fries with more attitude than appetite.

“You think because you showed up wet and tragic and holding a broken tulip, I’m just gonna—what—forget everything?”

She set the bag down hard.

“You don’t get points for remembering how I like my fries,” she said, each word landing like a footstep down a long hallway. “No. You get points for this. For standing there. For not talking over me. For listening while I tell you that I’m still pissed.”

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t let it break.

“I waited three days, Tyler. Three. And not because I thought you were busy. I waited because I didn’t want it to be over. Because I wanted to believe you’d show up differently.”

Her eyes flicked to the flowers. Soft. Drooping. Trying.

“…And maybe you did. A little.”

She moved back to the table, slow and deliberate, the clink of her ring against the countertop echoing in the warm quiet. She glanced at him—looked at him—like she was measuring not just his apology but whether she believed he had it in him to stay.

“But don’t think this is some big cinematic reconciliation,” she said, her tone quieter now. Not gentler. Just tired. Honest. “This isn’t a scene. This is my life.”

She pulled out a stool and sat, not looking at him. Not yet.

“So, sit down,” she murmured. “Quietly.”

She reached for another fry, this time more delicately. “And if you try to narrate this moment in your head like it’s a movie, I’ll make you mop the bakery floor.”

A long beat passed.

Then she added, low and matter-of-fact, “And yes, I’m taking the crispy fries first.”

She didn’t look at him, but her fingers brushed against the edge of the takeout bag like a silent peace offering.

“You owe me that much.”

He set the fries down exactly where she told him to. Stepped back with hands half-raised like he really was defusing a bomb.

Internally, though?

He was irritated as hell.

Not at her—at least, not completely. He was pissed at the situation. At himself, maybe, for even showing up. For being here again. For getting caught in this same loop, same firestorm, same girl with those sharp eyes and impossible standards that made him feel both electric and exhausted all at once.

Why couldn’t it be easy?
Why couldn’t she be easy?

Every other girl before her, he could walk away from clean. Cut the cord. Dust his hands off and call it a lesson. But Ellie?

She was sticky. Emotional quicksand. No matter how many times he told himself he was over it—over her—he ended up right back here. Dripping rain on her floor, standing trial with fries as his only defense.

And the worst part?

She knew it.

She knew exactly how much she had him wrapped, and it made her even colder. Even sharper. She didn’t buy his grin, didn’t fall for the sad curls or cheap one-liners.

And God, he hated that.

But still—he kept his mouth shut. Let her talk. Let her feel. Let her take the power, because that’s what this was now. A performance, but one where she got to be the lead. And he? He was background. Supporting cast. Waiting for his cue.

So he stood, quiet, as she railed and picked at the fries with that perfect, infuriating blend of anger and restraint. He didn’t smile. Didn’t push. Didn’t roll his eyes, even when she told him not to sit and then told him to sit—because of course she would.

And when the silence finally stretched long enough for him to speak—

He turned it on.

Tyler pulled out the stool like a repentant schoolboy, slow and deliberate. Sat down, leaned in just slightly like he was laying his heart on the table. Eyes soft. Voice lower now, smooth with apology, worn just enough to sound sincere.

“I know I screwed up,” he said. “I know that showing up late and soaked and probably tracking mud on your floor isn’t enough to fix three days of silence.”

He looked at her then, really looked—like she was a painting he didn’t deserve to touch.

“But I came anyway,” he continued, letting a little vulnerability bleed into his words, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to not hear your voice. Or see your name on my phone. And I hated that more than I’ve hated anything in a long time.”

That wasn’t true. Not entirely. But it sounded right. And sometimes, sounding right was all it took.

“I’m sorry, El. For all of it. For being the guy who disappears when things get too real. For making you wait. For not showing up the way you needed me to.”

He gave her a crooked little smile—just enough to soften the blow of his own bullshit.

“I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I want to be better. For you.”

He reached for a fry—not the crispiest one, he wouldn’t dare—but something halfway decent. Held it up like a peace flag.

“I mean, if you’re already threatening to make me mop floors, that feels pretty permanent, don’t you think?”

A beat.

Then, in that low, syrupy tone he knew made her pulse trip, he added:

“Besides… I missed you, El. More than I’m probably supposed to.”

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Waiting. Watching. Hoping the butterflies were kicking in just loud enough to drown out the part of her still mad.

Because at the end of the day, Tyler didn’t need her to believe him.

He just needed her to want to.

Ellie didn’t look at him when he started talking.

She kept her eyes fixed on the fries, on the way the paper bag crinkled under her fingertips, on the soft golden edge of the one she was holding like it might ground her in the moment. Her jaw tightened with every carefully chosen word he fed into the quiet—each one sounding just right. Too right. Like he’d rehearsed them in the mirror before walking through the storm.

She could feel him watching her. Leaning in. Playing sincere.

And God, she wanted to believe him.

But she’d believed him before.

So she breathed. Long and slow. Let the silence stretch like muscle—tight, aching.

Then:

“Don’t say all the right things if you don’t mean them.”

Her voice was low. Not fragile—measured. Like she’d been sitting on those words for days, waiting to unscrew the lid before they exploded.

She finally looked at him, and her expression wasn’t soft. It wasn’t angry, either. It was tired. Bone-deep and beautiful in the way cracked porcelain is beautiful—delicate, but still holding shape.

“Don’t look at me like that if you’re just going to leave again when it stops raining.”

Her gaze drifted to his soaked flannel, the water dripping onto her bakery floor, the sad little tulip wilting near the sugar jar. Her lips twisted—not in amusement, but restraint.

“You think I don’t know how this goes?”
“You disappear, I lose sleep, and then you show up with that broken puppy-dog voice and fries you knew I wouldn’t resist.”

She stood slowly, fingers still curled around the fry. The stool scraped softly against the tile as she pushed it back.

“You didn’t show up because of the silence.”
“You showed up because of the absence. Because something didn’t feel right without me there to orbit around.”

Her tone sharpened, the words gaining heat—not yelling, but slicing clean.

“And that’s not love, Tyler. That’s loneliness dressed up in charm.”

She took one step closer, the warm light from above catching in her curls, where the pink ribbon had begun to slip loose from her ponytail.

“You don’t want to be better for me. You want to be better so I keep letting you try.”

Her eyes met his fully now, unblinking. Cutting. But under all of it—under the fire and the fatigue—there was something else.

Hope. Faint and trembling.

“I’m tired of being your reason.”

Her voice broke there. Just slightly. A crack in the armor, quick and invisible if you didn’t know her. But Tyler knew. And he’d made that crack.

She looked away again. Down. Anywhere but his face.

“…God, I wanted you to be right for me. I really did.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached into the bag again, pulling out a single fry with the golden edges still intact.

“I sat at this table the first night you ghosted me thinking maybe—maybe—you were scared. That maybe if I gave you time, you’d show up different. That it would mean something.”

She turned it in her fingers like it was something fragile. Something sacred.

Then:

“And now you’re here. You’re saying all the things I dreamed about hearing. You’re looking at me like I hung the moon.”

Her lashes fluttered, her throat tightening as she raised the fry in one slow, deliberate motion.

“But it doesn’t feel like enough.”

Crunch.

She took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Let the silence settle again.

Her eyes flicked up, meeting his with one last flicker of reluctant affection.

“This? This’ll buy you ten minutes.”

She tossed the rest of the fry into the bag and pulled out the stool with a slow drag of wood on tile.

“Start making them count.”

And then she sat down.
No smile. No warmth.
But she hadn’t asked him to leave either.

And in a world like theirs, that was still a beginning.