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    "Kenna?" Cameron appears in front of me after he locks the shop door. For some reason, I'm a little stunned after that display; I expected them to be more angry than they were, and a part of me expected Courtney to show up. I expected Lily to put up more of a fight, or at least more of an apologetic outlook.

I expected Dad to blow up because it could kill his political career. Luke was more understanding and believed that nothing was happening with me and Cameron. I thought he'd believe shit was happening.

"What did Luke say to you just now?" I ask as I come out of my trance.

"Nothing, just some stupid shit."

I blink. "What?"

"It doesn't matter. Look, why don't you go home? I'll find a hotel—"

"They didn't even ask what was going on – why you were here. Do you not care about people knowing you're leaving?"

He smirks. "I'm not fleeing like a runaway, Kenna. I'm thirty years old. It doesn't matter what other people think—"

My phone buzzes, so I grab it. Courtney.

"Do I answer it?"

Cameron shrugs. "If you want to. Do you want to have the chat with her right now? Or ever?"

"Personally, I want her to stay out of my life forever."

"Then don't answer it. Block her number."

Sighing, I wait for the call to end before clicking the contact and blocking her number. I guess I was just waiting for someone to tell me to do it. A year may be a tiny drop in the ocean in life, but it's still an entire year of my life I poured into loving and being with Courtney. I made a home life and spent money and effort planning a wedding and a future with her.

Part of me feels a sort of obligation to tell her it's over and have closure, but surely me doing what I did is closure enough? Surely, blocking her from my life should be harder than it is now? There should be something in me that's resistant to this, right?

Why isn't there?

Does my subconscious think it's because she's not the one? Is it the hurt deep down? Or is it easy because somehow, I'm angrier with Lily than I am with Courtney? Is this is a relief that I'm not married to her? There's something in the back of my mind that's unsure what the hell made this all so easy, but I don't know what it's trying to tell me.

I look at Cameron and show him the screen on my phone. "Done. I don't know why this is so easy."

"Because she hurt you and you dodged a bullet."

"Why are you still here?" I ask. "That sounded bad. I mean in the why are you still helping me way, not in the hating sense. Oh, I'm fucking this up big time." We both laugh at my awkwardness.

"It makes sense. I'm still helping you for multiple reasons. You don't deserve the shit you went through with her. Selfishly, I want to get out too, and we've always been friends. With what happened to Elliott, I think helping you is what he'd want. I don't know, it just... all aligns."

I nod and pocket my phone before I carry on making this awkward as fuck. "There's a spare room in the flat, you can have it until we work out what the fuck we're both doing with our lives."

He cocks his head. "You sure? This isn't too awkward for you with what happened in the past—"

I cut him off by shaking my head. "The only thing I ask is not bringing it up. I'm aware we need to have this out, but not yet. Maybe on holiday or whatever. This is just... not this weekend?"

He just nods. Any talk of Elliott is like lemons in our mouths; we both recoil and go quiet, it's all sour and tart. Clearly, he doesn't want this to happen yet either.

Instead, he moves over to the little blackboard that keeps the permanent info about the special cupcake on the wall. I have the flavour of the special, price and at the bottom, it reads 'Half the proceeds of every cupcake go to the Samaritans charity.'

"I couldn't keep up giving all proceeds to charity once I upscaled, so I had to lower it to half. Once I've opened a second shop and evened out the takings, I plan to do all proceeds. Maybe. I don't know if finances allow it. It works for now," I mention.

He reads the piece of laminated paper beside the blackboard. It's a profile about Elliott with a photo of him, then a photo of him and me plus a little biography saying who he was and how he committed suicide at nineteen. I don't give anything on why.

"If he was here, he'd love this place," Cameron says sadly.

"I'd like to think so. His little business plan for me didn't go much into décor, but I went with what I knew he'd like. The open plan, neutral browns and blue. In the beginning, it was so hard to keep going, seeing the vision he had and it wasn't materialising, you know? Plus with the grief and everything, it was just fucking hard. Barely keeping afloat but I also knew I couldn't stop after putting in so much effort. Luckily it's done well and everything."

"How are you going to decorate the next one? Are you gonna make each shop unique or go for the same?" he asks.

"Honestly, I haven't thought that far ahead yet. Elliott's plan for me was to expand but he didn't say how or that kinda thing. I kept the décor also to taste with where we are, so depending where I go, I'll keep in theme with the location as well as probably keeping in with this place so they're at least in a chain."

"I'd like to help," he says.

I furrow my brow as I load up the work laptop I use some mornings out here to go through the books and rotas. I close the lid of it, realising I'm probably not going to get anything done and focus on Cameron. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a chef and photographer, right? So, you set the place up and I'll become the chef or baker whatever you call it for the new place. I can also do photography for it, sort of like a marketing manager. Provide the photos for social media and stuff. Hire me if you want a word for it. I'm looking for a new start, it could be perfect," he says.

He's now looking at me with a serious expression before sitting opposite me. I picked a small table to the right of where my family were sitting, so with him opposite, it feels so intimate, and the way he stares makes it more intense than I was expecting.

It's so close that if I was working and looking in as an outsider, I'd be forgiven for thinking we were on a date.

This is not what should be happening right now. There's too much in our history to consider this, plus the fact I was in a wedding dress and about to exchange vows not long ago.

"Are you even trained in making cakes?" I ask.

He nods. "Have all the relevant courses, I can show you if you need. Hell, show me your recipes and I'll replicate them how you want, quicker probably, too with where I've worked. No offence."

I snort. "None taken."

"Or we could change it around a little, make it a proper dessert restaurant with pastries and whatever. Or a full restaurant with a twist. Just some ideas, but think about it. I could be the chef while you work on birthday cakes and do that side of the business. It sounds and looks like you're doing it all here when you could focus on one side – the personal side."

I arch an eyebrow. "Have you turned into a business mogul now?"

He grins. "No, but I can see the massive potential here. It could work."

"I mean, I'll think about it. Right now, I'm focusing on where, when and how. The details are a mystery right now. But... I don't know, it could work. A whole restaurant would be expensive compared to my current plan."

"Hell, you see those chocolate restaurants in Central London; chocolate afternoon tea, cheesecakes, champagne, you could go for something like that."

The way his eyes move around the room shows me that he's fantasising about this fantasy restaurant, and I start to wonder what it would actually be like to do that kind of thing. I went to one ages ago, and it was amazing. But I also just hand make cakes; I'm not some master chocolatier or chef, but Cameron is. The pure passion and excitement in the way he speaks about it lights up his whole being, and it makes me smile despite the crap.

"You sound like you have your heart set on opening a restaurant," I mention.

"Well, I can't say it wouldn't be cool. I have the relevant experience but I do not have any business acumen. I've also been off work for a long time with depression, so highly unlikely to be swept up by anywhere else anytime soon."

Working with Cameron, or at least, it would be starting a business with him, would be weird. They say never go into business with family or friends, but I know that's how many people start.

"I'll think about it," I promise. "Too much going around in my head right now."

He nods and stands. "Fair. Anyway, you're still on time off, right?"

"Technically yes, until next weekend."

"So put the laptop down, have another cupcake, and enjoy yourself. Well, sort of. You know what I mean. Forget the shit; none of it is important right now."

I find myself laughing. "Not important? I just jilted someone at the altar, basically disowned my sister, pissed off my family, locked my ex-girlfriend out of the flat in one day, and I have to work out what I'm doing with my business. Let alone the implication they probably think I'm lying about not being in a thing with you."

He chortles. "Would that be such a bad thing to let them think?"

"It's not about that. It's about the fact I'm the one that was wronged, but people will think I did it to run away with you. Just for once I'd like to be the victim I am, you know? Just for once I'd like to be selfish and have people feel sympathy for me, not pity me like they did when Elliott died. Until I ran away, people would just look at me and I could see their pity."

Cameron nods as I stand up, put the work laptop on the side and write out a note saying I was here, but still on my time off. He grabs the cups from the table and takes them out to the kitchen.

"For what it's worth, I don't think people pitied you – or anyone close to Elliott – as hard as it is to think otherwise. People also have no idea why he did what he did, so when people look at people close to him, they're confused. I was close to him and I was – still am – because even up until he died, to everyone else he seemed the same Elliott he always was."

I narrow my eyes. "Could you not see how depressed he was?" It's not an accusatory question, more confusion. Of course I saw it; I knew what happened, and just how depressed he was. I saw the big changes in his happiness, or lack thereof, and I saw how he would have scars on his arms and legs. I saw all of it, so of course I saw the massive changes more than anyone else.

"Course I did. But it was subtle to us; he was less enthusiastic about stuff we'd do together like the day at the beach or whatever. He'd be seen at your house less and less because you'd be over there or whatever you did. If it was subtle to his friends, I can imagine it was negligent for people who were acquaintances."

"I guess I had the inside view of it all," I mumble as I grab my handbag.

"You did. It's not me having a go or anything, but it might explain why you might not have had the responses you expected from people."

"I had pity, Cam. The whole time. Oh, how could he do this? He was so young, but hey, life goes on and there's plenty of fish in the sea! Or it was oh, well, you know young people these days, you'll be fine, Kenna." I scoff. "If anyone knew."

"But they didn't. They still don't. You can't go expecting people to understand if they don't know, Kenna. It's yours and his secret, I get that, but no one saw anything wrong. Yeah, people are insensitive pricks – he still died and if people said that to you, that's fucking awful. But they're not mind readers. Did his parents know the reason?"

I shake my head. "No. They got him the help for depression, but never knew why he had it."

He nods as we walk out of the shop and I lock up. Whenever someone talks about why Elliott committed suicide, there's always this part of me that feels like telling someone. Since he died – well, since he told me a few weeks after it happened – it's been a weight on me, pressuring my whole being and threatening me. 

But he never wanted anyone to know, so I kept his secret. Helped him deal with it. Watched as he struggled and wouldn't let me unburden the weight to get him help. It was his wish for no one to know, and since he died, I've kept that, even when his parents sobbed and demanded answers from me, even at his funeral when the eulogies had questioned what was so bad, even when Cameron, Luke and Lily demanded me tell them, and even when my parents demanded to know.

I've kept that secret, but the more I talk to Cameron, and the more that shit goes on right now, and the more I talk about Elliott, the more I realise that it's been six years and I'm still burdened. It's eating me up like a leech and I need to be rid of it. It's too late for anyone to do anything, so I won't be opening a can of worms, but it'll help. That's not a bad thing, is it? I don't know.

But all I know is that eventually, it will all have to come out, and I think it'll be coming sooner rather than later.

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