AALIYAH
"I'm sorry, Liya, I didn't even know he was going to be there. I didn't even invite him to my wedding. I didn't want to see his ass there," Candace, my best friend, said to me as I handed a warm box of freshly baked croissants to the customer waiting at the counter.
The scent of cinnamon and butter lingered in the air, blending with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. My bakery was cozy, with soft pastel walls and shelves lined with jars of cookies and neatly arranged pastries. Wooden tables and chairs by the windows offered a quiet corner for customers to enjoy their treats.
A tiny chalkboard sign above the counter read, "Aaliyah's Haven: Baked with Love." This place was more than a business; it was my sanctuary, my escape from the chaos of life.
"It's fine, Candace," I said, turning from the now-smiling customer to face her. She was perched on the other side of the counter, still frowning. "I've told you three times already. I know you didn't invite him. Let it go."
Her brows furrowed, and she opened her mouth to protest, but I quickly cut in. "Your cousin Lisa is friends with Mya, right? I'm sure Mya brought him as her plus-one, it's fine, I'm fine."
It wasn't entirely true, but I wanted to spare her the guilt. The truth was, seeing my ex, Blake, at her wedding had stirred feelings and memories I thought I'd buried. Not because I missed him, but because I hated the reminder of what he'd done to me. Still, Atlanta was too small a city to avoid him forever.
Candace sighed. "I just feel so angry about the whole thing. After what he did to you….."
"Stop." I placed a hand on her shoulder. I didn't need to hear the replay. I lived it in my head every day like a broken record. "It's fine, Candace. He doesn't mean anything to me anymore. Didn't you see how I handled it?"
A small, forced smirk tugged at my lips, but it was enough to make her face light up.
"Girl, you did handle it. I was so proud!" she said, her voice rising in excitement.
Blake had approached me at the wedding with his pregnant fiancée clinging to his arm like a designer handbag, her baby bump obvious in the fitted red dress she wore. Why he thought I'd entertain a conversation, I didn't know, but I'd cut him off with nothing more than a polite nod before walking away. Whatever he wanted to say, I wasn't interested.
"I was so tempted to step in," Candace said, her hands gesturing wildly. "Mya had the nerve to look smug, like she'd won some prize. I was ready to tell her…."
Her words trailed off when a rumble outside caught both our attention.
A sleek black SUV pulled up in front of my bakery, its tinted windows gleaming under the sunlight. Before I could process what was happening, two more identical SUVs parked neatly behind it.
Candace moved closer to the window, her jaw dropping. "Who the hell rolls into a bakery like this? Is this Atlanta's version of the Secret Service?"
Before I could respond, figures in sharp black suits stepped out of the vehicles. They moved in perfect synchronization, tall and broad-shouldered, their movements precise and calculated. Each man adjusted his jacket as if preparing for something important.
"Are they… bodyguards?" Candace whispered, her voice tinged with curiosity and awe, just like the other patrons in my bakery that were staring out the window.
The men stood in a straight line, scanning the area like they were guarding a president. Then, one of them stepped forward and opened the back door of the middle SUV with an almost reverent motion.
From the car, a man stepped out, and I swear the world seemed to pause.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiated an effortless air of command. His tailored navy suit fit him like a second skin, and the way he adjusted his cuffs, as if he had all the time in the world, sent an unspoken message: this man was important.
Candace let out a low whistle. "Well, hello there, Mr. Armani ad."
I rolled my eyes at her but couldn't stop my own gaze from lingering. His dark hair was immaculately styled, and the way he carried himself, confident, almost regal, was enough to make anyone take notice.
Without hesitation, he strode toward the bakery, his bodyguards flanking him like shadows.
"Do you think he's lost?" Candace murmured, still glued to the spot.
"Maybe he's here for coffee or baked goods," I said, though I wasn't entirely sure I believed it myself.
The door chimed as he entered, and for a moment, the scent of pastries and coffee was overpowered by the faintest hint of expensive cologne.
He stopped just inside, his dark eyes scanning the bakery before settling on me. There was something unreadable in his expression, as though he were weighing my very existence in that single glance.
My heart raced wildly as he approached the counter, each step he took felt like a drumbeat echoing in my chest, threatening to break free. I struggled to control my breath, exhaling in quick bursts, reminding myself to maintain my composure. After all, he was just a customer, and I needed to keep it professional, despite his striking good looks.
When he finally stood before me, I couldn't help but look up. He towered over me, and at five foot nine, I considered myself tall, but this man seemed to reach six foot seven or eight. His pitch-black eyes, unlike anything I had ever seen, locked onto mine with an intensity that made me shiver.
His face was sharp and chiseled, like it had been sculpted by an artist with an eye for perfection. A strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight, aquiline nose gave him an air of aristocracy. His skin was a warm olive tone, flawless and smooth. His lips were full but set in a firm line, adding to his cold, imposing presence. A faint shadow of stubble dusted his jaw, further enhancing his rugged allure. But it was his eyes, black as midnight and utterly unreadable, that held my gaze, as though they could see straight through me.
"Espresso. No sugar," he ordered, snapping me out of my blatant gawping, his deep voice laced with a cool Italian accent that sent a delightful shiver down my spine.