Chapter 3

After I got to Cranehaven, I turned off my phone, snapped my SIM card in half, and flushed it down the toilet.

My brother had an old house here, one he'd bought years ago as an investment, and it had sat empty for a long time. He helped me fix it up, and he also found a small storefront on an out-of-the-way alley and leased it.

I'd been learning to bake since I was sixteen.

It was the only skill I had.

On the opening day of Sweet Remnants Bakery, my brother was the only one who came to show support. He bought six lattes and drank them all.

These past four years, I've gotten by—not great, not terrible.

The shop went from empty to slowly building a steady base of regulars. On weekends I helped my brother look after Daisy. Once in a while I'd take a walk along the shore.

Not happy, exactly, but quiet.

So quiet that I'd almost forgotten the name Dustin Stephens.

Until yesterday.

He found me.

For the next three days, he showed up at the shop door at seven o'clock sharp every morning.

He didn't come in, didn't knock, just sat on the stone bench across the way.

Sometimes he brought a cup of coffee, sometimes nothing at all.

My customers started talking.

"Jill, who's that man out there? He's so good-looking."

"Your rival? Oh, wait—someone chasing you?"

"He camps out here for you every day. That's plenty of sincerity, don't you think?"

I didn't answer. The oven timer went off, and I went to get the cake.

On the afternoon of the third day, it rained.

The autumn rain in Cranehaven was thick and fast, slanting down and slapping against my face.

He had no umbrella.

He sat on the stone bench, his shirt soaked through and clinging to him, water dripping from his hair, but he didn't move.

I carried out a cup of hot cocoa.

I set it down in front of him, turned, and walked away.

He said something behind me.

"Jill, I never wronged you. Whatever you think I did, I didn't."

My steps stopped for a second.

Just a second. I pushed the door open and went back inside.

On the fourth day, he changed tactics.

When I opened up in the morning, there was a bunch of white lisianthus on the table, with a note tucked beside it.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what I did to make you leave. But whatever it was, I apologize."

I put the flowers in an empty vase in the shop.

I folded the note and put it in a drawer.

It wasn't that I'd gone soft. It was just that throwing it away would be a waste.

On the fifth day, my brother came into the shop to buy bread.

He saw Dustin sitting outside the window and sucked in a breath.

"He's still here?"

"Mm."

"Why exactly did you run? Did it never once occur to you to talk it out with him?"

I kept wiping the counter without looking up.

"Talk about what? That your mom showed me your chat history with someone else, that you never loved me?"

"What if all of that was real, Sebastian?"

My brother opened his mouth, then said nothing more.

On the fifth night, after closing up, I went to the mouth of the alley to take out the trash.

His car was parked at the alley entrance, but he wasn't inside.

The door was unlocked, and on the passenger seat was a neatly folded coat and a worn-out notebook.

I hadn't meant to look.

But the wind blew the notebook open, and I caught a glimpse of one page.

There was a photo of me pasted on it. It was taken back when we'd first gotten together, on the school field—I was wearing my varsity team hoodie, laughing without a care in the world.

Next to the photo was a line of writing: "Day 1387."

"New lead in Cranehaven: a bakery in the old town, pending confirmation."

I turned to the next page.

"Day 1402. Confirmed it's her. Jill, I found you."

The date was three months ago.

My hands started to shake.

I flipped forward. I flipped back.

The whole notebook, from the first page to the last, was nothing but dates, locations, and records of the search for me.

Four years.

He really had searched for four years.

As I closed the notebook and set it back where it had been, I heard the sound of high heels on the bluestone paving behind me.

One step at a time, crisp and slow.

I turned around.

The streetlight at the alley entrance shone down, and a woman stood there.

A dark red coat, her hair pinned up without a strand out of place, exquisite makeup hiding the lines at the corners of her eyes.

I recognized her.