As early summer settled in, the cake stall became a regular fixture. Owen sometimes came down to take photos — at first of the cakes, then of Mia making them: whisking the eggs, spreading the frosting. His photos were unfiltered.
"You look fine as you are," he said. "Nothing to fix."
In the evenings when she packed up, Owen helped carry the folding table back inside. One evening she asked, "How long do you think it takes to break a habit you've spent eight years building?"
He thought about it. "Depends on whether you want to break it. If you don't, it never goes away. If you do..." He hoisted the folding table onto his shoulder. "Looks like you've already started."
Back home, she stood on the balcony. Across the street, she noticed Cole's car parked at the curb. It sat there for a whil
