Dean consumes my thoughts. There are other things I need to focus on, but I can’t. I just think of him, and the burning feeling of fear that’s settled in my stomach. It’s like no one else is seeing the world as I do. They don’t know what my mother is capable of.

I start to pull a tray off the counter, and then leap back when pain shoots up my fingers, watching helplessly as it crashes to the floor. Loud as a gunshot. The clatter fills the bakery that has otherwise been dead silent.

Renee rushes to the back, her eyes wide. “What happened?”

“I grabbed the wrong tray.” I stare down at the cupcakes. “That was one just out of the oven.”

We don’t have time for mistakes. We’re not going to finish—at all. The oven has been going since three in the morning. Renee and Benny have been here since just before four. But it’s not enough.

When I agreed to do this, Dean had promised help. And I get why he’s not here right now, but that doesn’t reduce the frustration I have over cupcakes.

And my mother. And Anthony who got drunk last night and was stumbling in as I was leaving this morning. That’s what he did after the news—rushed off to Mitch’s and drank until he could hardly function anymore. I don’t fully blame him. There’s a part of me that wants to do that too.

I cross to the prep sink and turn on the cold water, shoving my hand under it.

Renee follows after me. “We’re not going to finish.”

“I know.” I stare at the water dripping down my fingers and splattering on the bottom of the stainless-steel sink.

“Maybe we should just call it,” she says. “Make an excuse. Although you don’t really need to make an excuse up because you have one.”

She’s repeated this a few times already. She thinks I should cancel the festival. Let myself sink into that huge black pit that’s looming under my feet.

Well, maybe she didn’t say that exactly.

But I can’t let my mother take this from me too. I’ve worked so hard to belong to this town. To make a life for myself.

If I cancel the festival, then what would the Ms. Joannas say? I’d never be able to do something like this again. Portage has a long memory, and something like that would follow me forever. I’m finally pushing through the invisible line that makes everyone look at me with distrust.

I shake my head and turn off the water, my fingers tingling. “We make what we can. We’re already here, so we might as well keep going.”

A low knock on the backdoor makes both of us jump. I stare at it for a moment. She wouldn’t come here, would she? Renee is as wide-eyed as me. Benny is up front, boxing up the cupcakes that we have finished.

I walk toward the door, my heart pounding louder with each step. It’s an employee entrance, so there’s no window. Nothing to hint as to who’s outside.

What if it’s her?

I unlock the door, then yank it open quickly.

Dean.

My shoulders sag in relief, and then tighten again. Two opposing emotions fight. The desire to leap toward him, hold on to him, keep close to him no matter what happens. And the other—that knows I was right to send him away. He wears the same hoodie he usually pulls on when he walks me to the bakery in the mornings. He squints into the bright lights, the world behind him still dark and quiet.

Dev stands beside him, both of them with shadows under their eyes. Is that whiskey I smell?

Dean clears his throat. “I’d promised we’d help.” Whiskey or not, his words are even, and his eyes focus on me. Stunning blue, even with all the distance between us.

But he can’t be here.

“You should go.” The longer I stand across from him, the less control I’ll have. That’s the way it always is with Dean.

I start to close the door.

“Ella,” Renee snaps from behind me. “We need the help.”

I turn to face her, shaking my head. But she holds up her hands as if commanding me to stop. “I know you’re”—she glances past me—“worried. But it’s four in the morning. The entire world is asleep except for us. Are you really going to keep pushing this?”

“Let us help,” Dev says. “Or just me, if—”

The timer on the oven goes off, and Renee grabs gloves to pull out the trays. Then she stops. “Ella?”

Oh, no. No. I know that tone.

“One of the lightbulbs is out,” she continues. “So I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise, but a screw on the light covering is missing.”

I close my eyes, still gripping the door. “You don’t see the screw?”

“No.” Her voices feels disembodied with my eyes squeezed shut.

That means it could be anywhere. In any one of the cupcakes.

With my eyes shut, I still know where every corner of this bakery is. The exact shade of yellow on the walls. The small space between oven and countertops. The edge of the bread case that snags my sweater. But right now I feel so lost. Like nothing fits anymore.

“Let us help.” Dean’s voice is close. He’s standing there—if I open my eyes, I’ll see him. I miss him so desperately, even though he’s standing right next to me. I nod and step away from the door, not opening my eyes until I’ve turned back around.

“Okay.” I cross to the counter. “Let’s start again.”

I focus all my intensity on the line of cupcakes in front of me. Something I never thought I’d be focusing on, but I’m not sure what else to do. Should I ask Ella about her mother?

I spent a portion of last night running through the news. Listening to the press conference. Pacing the deck with the desire to go after Ella right-fucking-now. And I would have, if it wasn’t for that word.

Anchor.

It keeps me across the room from her. Keeps my hands moving with a task. It’s not unlike sailing in that way. I fill liners, organize trays to go into the oven, pull them out and move them to Dev when they are cooled. Share a tense greeting with Benny. And an apology with Renee, which makes me feel like even more of an asshole. Like some abuser who thinks that apologies fix everything. But if this is the only way I can be here for Ella right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.

Finish the fucking cupcakes.

Unfortunately, dawn comes first, creeping through the front windows, and I know she’s going to tell me to go. But not before I make one last attempt. Because I’ll always make one last attempt for this woman. That’s what Dev made me realize last night over a handful of shots.

I stop just outside the door, Dev behind me in the alleyway. Ella holds the door open. She could slam it in my face at any moment. I don’t think she will—she’s too kind for that.

One of the reasons I love her.

“Let me stay with you.” My voice is raw—a tone I’ve never heard from myself before.

She tips her chin up to look at me. Exactly like how she does just before she kisses me. Except that’s not what’s going to happen now.

Dev clears his throat. “I’m gonna head back, Dean.”

“Yeah,” I say absently, but I’ll thank him for it later.

“Go with him,” she says quickly. A smudge of flour is on her chin, and my fingers itch to wipe it away.

Dev pauses, but I wave him on.

“I just want to say a few things.” Tension is already straining my shoulders. Maybe Ella’s right about all this. We need to keep away from each other until her mother’s found. But she still broke up with me—and there’s not even a real threat here. I mean, is her mother really going to make it four hundred miles without being picked up? Would she really come all this way? And for what?

Ella.

How far would I go for her? A hell of a lot farther than four hundred miles.

She shakes her head. “You need to go.” She starts to close the door, but I set my hand on it.

“I don’t understand how we got to this place,” I continue. “I thought you were starting to trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Her eyes are so damn earnest. “But you need to go.”

“Are we really broken up? Because it doesn’t feel like it when you look at me that way.”

My heart’s cracking right down the center. And the fucking confusion is making it worse.

“I…” She trails off, staring up at me, her eyes wide.

“Fucking tell me, Ella.” I fist my hand against the door. “Tell me what you want.”

She flinches back, and whatever crack had started in my heart shatters. I scared her. I take my hand from the door.

I don’t want her to see my anger.

And she doesn’t, because she swings the door closed.

I stand there, just fucking breathing.

Fuck. My hand whips out and smacks the door. The pain reverberates from my knuckles down to my wrist. But it’s not enough. I hit again, harder. This time leaving blood, and the pain shoots up to my elbow.

I stare at the spots of blood on the door.

I’m not this guy. Or I don’t want to be. Either way, I need to calm the fuck down. I rake a hand through my hair and keep breathing. I need to get out of here. I spin and stop.

Dark eyes. Ella?

“You’re just like your father.” She jams something white into my arm and then steps back. I only have a moment to pull it out before the world starts to swim.

She’s still talking. I try to focus on it, but her words are hazy.

I slip to my knees, then slide forward. My palms hit the pavement.

Mira.