RECIPE FOR HEARTBREAK

Chapter 3: The Broken Mirrior

The rain doesn't stop. By 2:00 PM, the afternoon rush at Vance & Co. has completely died down.

The bakery smells like fresh cinnamon and espresso, but the atmosphere inside feels like a graveyard. Julian hasn't spoken a single word to me since I walked back into the kitchen four hours ago. He just quietly wiped down tables, restocked the pastry displays, and organized the receipts with robotic efficiency.

Every time I try to step near him, he smoothly finds an excuse to move to the other side of the counter. The quiet distance hurts ten times worse than if he had screamed at me.

I’m leaning against the glass display case, staring at my hands, when the front door bell chimes cheerfully.

"Welcome to Vance & Co.," I say automatically, forcing a fake customer-service smile onto my face.

A guy in his mid-twenties steps inside, shaking out a wet designer umbrella. He’s ridiculously handsome, wearing a tailored beige trench coat over a casual sweater. He has bright blue eyes, a killer smile, and an air of effortless charm that practically lights up the dreary room.

It’s Tristan Sterling.

Tristan is a celebrity food critic and high-end pastry distributor. He’s twenty-six, filthy rich, and has been flirting with me shamelessly across this counter for the past three weeks.

"Hey there, beautiful," Tristan grins, leaning his elbows on the glass counter and looking at me like I’m the main prize on a menu. "Tell me you have those dark chocolate sea-salt croissants today, or I might actually cry."

I can’t help the small, genuine laugh that escapes my lips. Tristan is like a breath of warm summer air in the middle of my chaotic, miserable storm.

"I saved two in the back just for you, Tristan," I say, sliding a wax bag off the hook.

"See? I knew you were my favorite person in this city," Tristan winks, sliding a crisp hundred-dollar bill onto the glass. "Keep the change. Actually, keep the change if you agree to let me take you out for drinks tonight."

Before I can answer, I hear the loud, heavy thump of a flour bag being thrown onto the back prep table.

Julian steps out of the back room. His apron is dirty, his face is pale, and his jaw is clenched so tight his knuckles are white. He ignores Tristan completely, walking up to the register and sliding the hundred-dollar bill back toward Tristan.

"We don't take hundred-dollar bills for an eight-dollar pastry," Julian says, his voice dangerously low and cold. "We don't have the change."

Tristan blinks, looking between Julian and me with an amused, easygoing smile. "Whoa, easy there, man. Just telling the lady her baking is worth a tip."

"She doesn't need your tips," Julian says, stepping directly beside me. The tension radiating off Julian is terrifying. I’ve known him my whole life, and I have never seen him look at a customer with this much dark, simmering hatred. "And she’s busy tonight."

Tristan raises an eyebrow, his smile turning slightly sharper. He isn't intimidated. "Is she? I thought I asked Maya, not her accountant."

"Julian, stop," I whisper urgently, grabbing Julian’s arm.

The second my fingers touch his wrist, Julian flinches as if he’s been burned. He snaps his head around to look at me, his amber eyes wide with raw, bleeding pain.

"Don't," Julian rasps softly, his voice trembling so hard it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces. "Don't touch me right now, Maya."

Tristan’s easygoing smirk fades. He looks at Julian, then looks at my pale face, instantly picking up on the toxic emotional disaster standing behind the counter.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," Tristan says calmly, picking up his pastry bag from the counter. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a sleek gold business card, and slides it toward me. "My offer stands, Maya. I'm hosting a culinary networking showcase tomorrow night. High-end investors, big names. You should come. You're too talented to stay stuck in this tiny place forever."

Tristan gives me one last warm glance, turns, and walks out into the rain.

The bakery bell chimes shut.

Silence slams back into the room. I stand frozen, looking at the gold business card on the counter, then up at Julian.

"Is three not enough for you, Maya?" Julian asks softly.

My breath hitches. "What?"

"Leo in the morning. The guy in the Maybach at 4:00 AM. And now him." Julian points a shaking finger toward the front door. "How many men do you need hanging around you before you feel complete?"

"Julian, it's not like that!" I sob, tears finally bursting past my eyes. "I'm trying to survive! I'm trying to keep this bakery alive!"

"No, you're not!" Julian roars, slamming his hand down on the counter so hard the register rattles. "You're running away! You're using them because you're terrified of letting anyone actually love you! You let them touch you, buy you, and use you because it's easier than being honest!"

I flinch, stepping back as if he hit me. The truth of his words hits me like a physical punch to the gut.

Julian breathes heavily, staring at me with tears in his own eyes. "I'm done, Maya. I can't keep watching you destroy yourself."