There was nothing in my head as I went down the line, cutting triangles of croissants out of my dough. Quick cuts, second nature, muscle memory. Steady as a-

He has a girlfriend.

Freezing up. Resuming. A blip in the-

He has a girlfriend.

Memories of last night. Jumping up from the couch, asking if he wanted some wine. He'd accepted too eagerly. I'd needed wine. I'd wanted to faint. What followed was a blur of us drinking together. Watching mindless TV. No more serious conversation. Him joking about Karens from work as we steadily got drunker together, finally having a good time at the end. The evening saved, but-

He has a girlfriend.

Seeing him to the door when his Uber came. Watching him slip and slide on the ice, calling for him to hold onto the railing due to his stupid shoes. I'd called his shoes stupid. 

My hand went to my forehead. Pausing in my work. He'd looked like he needed the wine more than me. If I thought clearly, he'd been about to cry when he told me he had a girlfriend. The few words I'd heard had told me that he didn't want a girlfriend. If I'd been braver, I'd have maybe heard the story.

I wasn't brave. 

I resumed cutting, pressing into the dough quickly and firmly-

His warm, firm thigh against mine. 

Pausing again. Staring at the wall. 

We'd been close to something. I saw in his eyes, when they'd flicked down to my hand on his thigh. I'd told him in that moment that I wanted him. My own confession, without words. It was all the bravery I'd had last night, and now...

It all made sense. He'd let me take his hand all the time. That was flirting. He'd come here every day almost, unless he had to work a double shift. He liked my chocolates. But, there wasn't ever anything more. We'd been getting closer. He'd come out to me. It was special, and I was special, because I was the only one he'd ever come out to.

I was special to him. That's what that had meant. Him coming out to me, two meanings in one. Only now was I realizing. 

And I felt stupid, because-

My tool chopped down the line in measured portions, ingrained in me from doing it every single day. Something I could do without thought, with my eyes closed. Trying to make my brain as numb as it had been right after he said those words last night. 

Right after he'd left, I'd wanted to call Nikki. But, I wasn't drunk enough to tell him what had happened. I still had enough sense to know that this was private information. Something that was very hard for Gyeong-Wan to tell me. He'd almost been crying.

Did that mean I was still special? That he hadn't wanted to tell me? 

I sat down on my stool, putting my hands on my thighs. They met in the middle, holding themselves. Too tight. Hurried breaths. My shoulders up too high. Staring at my hands, just like last night when he'd held one of them. Telling me this information. 

I went numb again.

"Welcome to French Cup!" Nikki yelled out. My head whipped up from the plate I was finishing for a customer, my strawberry sauce dripping onto the plate the wrong way. The person walking under the chiming bell was an old woman. Not Gyeong-Wan. 

I paid attention to the plate, carefully sitting the little fraisier cake on top of my messed up strawberry sauce. It still looked pretty, thank goodness. I squirted a couple of dollops of whipped cream on the side where the cake met the plate for presentation and also so the customer could enjoy it for dipping. Finally ready, I handed the plate to her. She was overjoyed at it, going away without comment, too excited. It made my heart a little less sad, but not enough.

Nikki dashed to the woman who'd just come in and had sat down. She was taking off her coat, and he was already offering her coffee. She accepted, and he twisted one of our white mugs off the stack in front of her. 

He had no idea what was happening. This turmoil inside of me, and there was no way I could tell him. No way to even hint. I didn't want to tell him, but it was too much for me to handle on my own. 

I stood at our showcase, my hands on top of it. Waiting for the next customer. I'd made our cakes extra fussy today, needing to be finished in front of the customer, because I needed distractions. Each one was a welcome little distraction. 

The bell chimed again. My head whipped up.

"Welcome to French Cup!" Nikki called out. "I'll be with you in a minute! Please have a seat!"

The girl in the doorway was wearing an expensive looking white coat. Her hair was long and impossibly straight, a headband keeping it in place. She was holding a designer bag. Pearls were around her neck.

Oh no. I prepared myself, smiling. She marched toward me, looking around our shop in a judging way. 

Was she one of the lawyers that Gyeong-Wan had warned us about? Gyeong-Wan... I bowed to her, smiling brightly. Trying my best. At least he'd warned us. Otherwise, we wouldn't have known about them. 

Remembering him here, telling us. Him standing here casually, talking to Ayane. It seemed so long ago. 

"How may I help you?" I asked, ready to launch into my spiel about our special cakes today. Maybe she'd be interested in them and be satisfied-

The bell chimed again. My head went up, but before I could make a sound, one like an alarm went up in our shop. My eyes went wide, and any words that had been in my mouth went back into my throat as I almost choked on my own spit.

"CHARLOOOOOTTE!" Nikki called out, running to her with his arms outspread. He squealed so high, and she nervously accepted his hug. She was staring straight ahead, right at me. Our eyes met, and she cast them downward. 

"One minute, that's my friend," I offered the woman, not looking at her anymore. She shifted to her other leg, clearly getting irritated.

The bell chimed again, and behind Charlotte came in another surprise. A scream left my throat this time before Nikki had time to react. No stopping it. I ran as fast as my legs would take me. 

"HANAKO?!" I shrieked. He collided with my body, his strong arms going around me. We parted and he indicated with his finger at Charlotte, poking her hard in the cheek as she gave a half-hearted giggle, still being bear hugged by Nikki. 

"Did you lose this?" Hanako asked, his finger still making contact with her face.

"Yeees," I whined, hugging him again.

Nikki let her go, and she joined my hug with Hanako, trying to cling to us both at the same time.

"How- when did you come back? Are you- you're back?" Nikki was letting everything in his body go at once, a confused babble.

She parted from us, addressing him. "I flew in this morning. I was in Okinawa. Um, I was already having second thoughts," she admitted, becoming small like a mouse, nervous. She turned to me, and I released Hanako. She bowed deeply. "I'm so sorry. Hanako called me and said I upset you the most. I'm so sorry I disappointed you. I didn't mean to... I was discouraged. All those people, walking by my theater and not even-"

My arms went around her and she let out a choke of a sob. My hand rubbed her back as her forehead met my shoulder. 

"Are you back?" I asked her, not wanting to let her go. She wouldn't be able to leave my arms if she said no. She'd be my prisoner at French Cup, unable to leave. I knew this for certain. Nikki wouldn't let her go, either.

I was making a whole plan when she gathered herself enough to speak. We'd have Colette kidnap her. Hanako would tie her up. We had an unused storage closet-

"Yes." She sniffed hard, not moving from me. "I'm back. I'll open my doors. Hanako arranged it all. He agreed to help me. He wants me to continue my art-"

"We all do, honey," Nikki said, rubbing her back, too. Trying to show her affection and love, something she sorely needed.

She let out another choke of a sob into me. "I'm sorryyy," she said, her voice going high. Uncharacteristic. 

"No, don't be sorry." Trying to assure her. Anything to make her happy again. "Don't ever be sorry."

"Okaaay," she sobbed into me. 

Nikki tutted with his mouth, and hugged her from behind, joining us. From the side, Hanako wrapped his arms around all of us. As I breathed a giant sigh of relief, we all hugged a crying Charlotte as we became a family again.