Page 216 of A Taste of Vanilla

Oliver stays at the table with Marley until the woman leaves, and then disappears back to his bar.

At noon, the rush fades, and Halston comes into the kitchen and leans against the prep table.

Marley looks at her over the counter. “You okay?”

Halston gives a thumbs-up without looking at her.

Oliver pokes his head in. “She’s not.”

I watch her as she bends slightly, her hand at her stomach. Oliver’s eyes drift to mine, and his expression changes by a fraction.

He’s an unwilling witness. A man standing at the edge of a slow-motion disaster he’d prefer not to acknowledge but can’t ignore because Halston is at the center of it.

The confrontation comes after closing.

The bakery closes and Halston is upstairs changing into something without powdered sugar on it before she and Marley drive to pick up some supplies in Canton. Dev has left, and Lisa is taking the last box of unsold muffins to her daughter’s school meeting. Marley just walked out the door.

I’m wiping the prep table, and the door to the alley slides open.

Oliver steps in with two glasses of water and places one beside me.

I look at it.

“Don’t be weird about it,” he mutters.

“I didn’t say anything.”

He leans against the wall, his arms crossed and his face unreadable.

For once, he doesn’t start with a joke.

I dry my hands with a towel.

Oliver’s eyes move over the kitchen. The cleaned counters. The labeled containers. The revised prep board. The note Halston wrote under tomorrow’s schedule reading, WARREN IS NOT ALLOWED TO REDUCE WHIMSY BELOW 72%.

“She’s better with you here,” he says.

I go still.

“She’s also worse.”

I nod once.

Oliver watches me. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I don’t like explaining things. It makes me want to fake a gas leak.” He rubs one hand over his jaw. “She trusts you.”

My chest tightens. “I know.”

“No,” Oliver says. “You think you know. I’m not sure you truly understand what that means.” His gaze locks directly on mine. “Halston trusts like someone who keeps forgetting she’s allowed to choose better people,” he says. “She gives too much away, then gets embarrassed for needing any of it back. Grant loved the smaller version of her because smaller was easier to display. Barrett liked her because he could call her promising and feel like a god.”

The muscle in my jaw jumps.

“She is not a layover,” he says firmly.

I hold his gaze. “I know.”