A Softening Of Walls
797 Words
The storm outside had settled into a quiet drizzle, but inside Mia’s chest, it raged on. Sleep had eluded her, leaving her staring at the ceiling, counting the soft ticks of the clock on her nightstand. No matter how much she tried to push Ethan from her mind, his voice, his presence, the weight of his gaze—they clung to her like an echo of something she wasn’t ready to face.
By the time morning arrived, she was running on nothing but caffeine and sheer willpower.
At Bluebell Bakehouse, the familiar comfort of routine wrapped around her like armor. She kneaded dough with more force than necessary, channeling her tangled emotions into every press of her fingers. Flour dusted her apron, and the scent of cinnamon rolls filled the air, but nothing could stop the gnawing restlessness inside her.
Lena, ever perceptive, leaned against the counter, arms folded. “You’re punishing that dough.”
Mia exhaled sharply and loosened her grip. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Lena countered. “You’re brooding. And there’s only one reason you brood like this.”
Mia shot her a look. “I’m not brooding.”
Lena smirked. “Right. Just aggressively making pastries.”
Mia huffed but didn’t argue.
The bell over the door chimed, and instinctively, her heart stuttered. She refused to look up, refused to let herself hope—
“Morning, ladies.”
Mia’s shoulders tensed at the unmistakable voice. Ethan.
Lena gave Mia a knowing glance before turning to him with an easy smile. “Morning, stranger. Coffee?”
“Please,” Ethan said, his voice smooth, too casual. “Black.”
Mia finally glanced up, and the sight of him sent a ripple through her composure. He looked well-rested, annoyingly at ease in a navy Henley and dark jeans, as if he hadn’t spent the night wrestling with ghosts the way she had.
She forced her expression into neutrality. “Table service now?”
He met her gaze with something unreadable in his eyes. “Figured I’d take my chances.”
Lena handed him the coffee, but instead of sitting, he lingered. “Do you have a minute?”
Mia hesitated. “I’m working.”
Lena rolled her eyes. “I’ve got the counter. Go.”
Mia narrowed her eyes at her best friend’s blatant interference but wiped her hands on her apron and gestured for Ethan to follow her to the back patio.
The air was cool, the scent of rain still clinging to the morning. Mia folded her arms. “What do you want?”
Ethan took a sip of coffee before answering. “To talk.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.” His voice softened. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I never meant to hurt you, Mia.”
Something sharp twisted in her chest. “And yet you did.”
Ethan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I made a mistake.”
Mia let out a bitter laugh. “That’s a pretty word for what you did.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. “I left because I thought I had to. My career—”
“Was more important than us,” she finished, her voice quieter now.
Regret flickered across his face. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
Mia looked away, the familiar ache creeping in. “And now?”
“Now I know that leaving you was the worst decision I ever made.”
Silence stretched between them, filled with too many things unsaid.
Finally, Mia shook her head. “Ethan, I don’t know what you expect from me. You can’t just come back and say you regret it and think that fixes anything.”
“I don’t expect it to,” he admitted. “But I had to tell you. Because it’s the truth.”
Mia swallowed against the lump in her throat. “And what am I supposed to do with that?”
His expression was raw, open in a way that made her heart clench. “I don’t know. But I’m not leaving this time.”
She held his gaze, emotions warring within her.
Then, before she could say another word, the door swung open.
Lena poked her head out, eyes wide. “Mia. You need to get inside. Now.”
Mia’s pulse kicked up. “What’s wrong?”
Lena hesitated before saying, “It’s Grams.”
The world tilted beneath her feet.
She barely registered Ethan’s voice as he said her name.
All she knew was that everything else—this conversation, the past, even the storm in her heart—suddenly didn’t matter.
Because Grams needed her.
And nothing else came first.
- Writer
