Chapter 5 – The Bakery Boy
474 Words
The air smelled of rain-soaked earth the next morning, fresh and sharp. Luna convinced Aunt Marjorie she wanted to help with errands, though what she really wanted was an excuse to step outside Hayes House.
Her aunt, cheerful as ever, dropped her off at the market square before heading to the butcher’s. Luna drifted toward the bakery, drawn not just by the scent of warm bread but by the memory of Ethan’s easy smile.
He was there again, arranging loaves behind the counter. When he spotted her, his face lit up.
“You came back,” he said, brushing flour from his hands.
Luna smiled, though her nerves fluttered. “Well, your bread is better than my aunt’s cooking.”
Ethan laughed. “Flattery accepted. But I’ll warn you—if you keep coming back, I’ll assume it’s not just for the bread.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. She ducked her head, pretending to study the pastries. Talking to Ethan felt natural, unforced. For the first time in weeks, she felt like a normal girl again.
When she finally left the shop with a small bag of rolls, the world seemed a little lighter. But the feeling didn’t last.
Rick was waiting by the market’s edge.
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His posture was casual, but his eyes told another story. They fixed on the bag in her hands, then on her face, reading her too easily.
“You were gone longer than you said,” he murmured.
Luna swallowed. “I was at the bakery.”
“With him.”
Her throat tightened. “I was just buying bread.”
Rick stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Do you know what people are like here? They’ll smile at you, pretend to care. But they don’t understand you. They don’t see you the way I do.”
The words pressed against her like a wall, suffocating.
“I can talk to people, Rick,” Luna said, her voice sharper than she intended.
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Rick’s lips curved into a faint smile—one that never touched his eyes.
“Of course you can,” he said softly. “But you don’t need to.”
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That night, Luna found the bag of rolls she’d bought sitting neatly on her desk. She hadn’t put them there.
Her stomach dropped.
The curtains were drawn shut, just as she’d left them—but the faint scent of damp earth clung to the room, as if someone had walked in straight from the garden.
Luna’s hands trembled as she touched the rolls. They were still warm.
She backed away from the desk, her breath quick and shallow.
From somewhere deep in the house, a floorboard creaked.
And though she couldn’t see him, she knew—Rick was watching.
Always watching.
- Writer
