Page 14 of Rook
Avery bolted upright, heart hammering. The old bedframe creaked beneath her as she scrambled to her feet. Throwing on a pair of jeans, leaving the off-the-shoulder nightshirt she slept in, she began forcing her brown waves into some semblance of a messy bun as she hurried down the narrow stairs, bare feet cold against the wood, and pushed open the front door. And froze.
Noah was bent over the hood of her car, sleeves shoved up, tattoos flexing along his forearms as he worked a wrench with practiced precision. His hair was damp from the morning mist, jaw shadowed with stubble, expression carved from stone.
He looked like he’d been out there awhile. He looked like he hadn’t slept.
Of course he was here, fixing things she hadn’t asked him to fix. He’d always done that, even when she didn’t want him to.
He didn’t look up when she stepped outside. He’d always known when she was near.
“Morning,” he said, voice low, rough, like gravel dragged across steel.
Avery swallowed. “You’re… fixing my car?”
“Wasn’t gonna leave it sitting here broken.” He tightened a bolt, muscles shifting under his skin. “You need it.”
She stepped closer, arms wrapped around herself. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He finally looked at her.
And God…those eyes.
Storm-gray, sharp, unreadable. Older. Harder. Beautiful in a way that made her chest ache.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I did.”
She opened her mouth to thank him, but he shut the hood with a heavythunkand wiped his hands on a rag.
“Get busy,” he said, nodding toward the bakery. “Place isn’t gonna fix itself.”
It wasn’t rude. It wasn’t gentle. It was Noah, direct and steady in that way she could never seem to argue with.
Avery nodded and slipped back inside Sweet Treats.
Avery closed the door behind her and leaned against it, letting the quiet settle around her. The bakery looked even worse in the morning light, but for the first time since she’d arrived, the sight didn’t make her want to cry.
It made her want tomove.
She pushed off the door and crossed to the counter, grabbing the old notepad Aunt Clara used to keep by the register. The pages were yellowed, edges curled, but there were still a few blank sheets left. She clicked a pen, the sound sharp in the stillness.
“Okay,” she whispered. “One thing at a time.”
She walked the length of the bakery, writing as she went.
Replace front door. Fix window latch. Deep clean counters. Scrub floors. Check oven. Check wiring. Order supplies. Figure out where the hell to start.
Her handwriting wobbled, but her breathing didn’t.
She moved behind the counter, pulling open drawers she hadn’t touched in years. Most were empty. A few held old receipts, faded menus, a broken measuring cup. And then, tucked beneath a stack of outdated order forms, she found it.
A folded piece of paper with her name on it.
Her throat tightened as she opened it.
Aves,
If you’re reading this, it means you came back.Good.This place was always yours more than mine.Don’t let it scare you.Start small.Start anywhere.Just start.
Love, Aunt Clara
