Ruin Me Gently

Elena Hart burned the croissants again. She was scraping the blackened tray into the bin when the bell over the door chimed. She didn't turn around. "We're closed." "Your sign says open." Her spine went rigid. She knew that voice. Eight years, and it still found the exact spot between her ribs. Damian Cross stood in her doorway, rain on his shoulders, a slim leather folder in one hand. He looked at the ruined tray, then at her flour-streaked apron, and almost smiled. "You still burn them when you're upset." "What do you want?" He laid the folder on the counter and set a ring box on top of it. "Be my wife for six months. Then I disappear again, and you keep the money." "You're insane." She opened the folder. Under the contract lay a photograph, glossy and slightly creased: the front window of her bakery, taken from across the street. Her, laughing, her hair shorter than it was now. The date in the corner was last spring. Her mouth went dry. Eight years of silence, and he'd been right there. "You were watching me." Damian met her eyes, steady and unreadable. "I never left, Elena." Should I write Episode 2 next?