The Sweet Spot

12

The weight of Sam's reappearance lingered heavily over me the next few days, like a storm cloud that refused to pass. I hadn't yet told Oliver about my conversation with Sam at the coffee shop, but I could sense that he knew something was off. Our easy banter had taken on a sharper edge, and the tension between us was no longer just the simmering chemistry that had been building over the past few weeks. Now, it was laced with something else—something neither of us had yet acknowledged.

It wasn't until late one evening, after the bakery had closed and Elliot was asleep in the apartment upstairs, that I finally let myself think about Sam in a way that didn't immediately fill me with dread. He wanted to reconnect with Elliot, to be a part of his life. That was clear. But I still wasn't sure if I could trust him, or if I even wanted to. After all, he had walked out on us once before—what was stopping him from doing it again?

As I sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the cup of tea in front of me, the door to the back of the bakery creaked open. I looked up to see Oliver standing there, his expression unreadable as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Thought you'd gone home," I said, surprised to see him still here. He had been working late in the kitchen, perfecting a new recipe he'd been toying with for weeks, but I figured he'd left once the lights dimmed.

"I was about to," he said, stepping into the kitchen and leaning against the counter. "But I figured I should check on you first. You've been... off lately."

I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face. "It's complicated."

Oliver didn't say anything, but I could feel his eyes on me, waiting. He was like that—silent, watchful, giving me the space to speak when I was ready but always present. It was frustrating and comforting all at once.

"It's Sam," I said finally, the words heavy on my tongue. "He's back."

The change in Oliver's demeanor was subtle, but I noticed it. His shoulders tensed, and his expression darkened ever so slightly. "Your ex?"

I nodded, wrapping my hands around the mug of tea, hoping its warmth would ground me. "He showed up at the bakery a few days ago. He wants to reconnect with Elliot."

Oliver crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. "And what do you want?"

That was the question, wasn't it? I stared down at the swirling tea, my mind racing. "I don't know," I admitted. "Elliot deserves to know his father. But Sam walked out on us, Oliver. He left when Elliot was just a baby, and I've spent the last six years trying to protect him from that kind of instability. Now Sam thinks he can just come back and be a part of Elliot's life? I don't know if I can trust him."

Oliver was silent for a moment, and when I finally looked up, I saw something in his eyes that I hadn't expected—understanding. Not pity, not sympathy, but genuine understanding.

"I get it," he said quietly, his voice low.

I frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. "You do?"

Oliver hesitated, as if weighing whether or not to continue. Then, with a sigh, he leaned against the counter, his hands resting on the edge as he spoke.

"I left New York because I couldn't handle the pressure anymore," he said, his voice tight. "I had a restaurant—one of the best in the city. It was everything I'd ever worked for. But it wasn't enough. I was always pushing for more—more success, more recognition. And I thought I could do it all, even if it meant stepping on the people who helped me get there."

I watched him carefully, sensing that this was a story he didn't share often—if at all.

"There was a partner," Oliver continued, his jaw clenching. "A guy I trusted. We built the restaurant together. But when things got tough, and the pressure mounted, I made some decisions I'm not proud of. I cut corners. Ignored his advice. And in the end, the whole thing fell apart. The restaurant failed, and I took the blame. There was a scandal—some of it was my fault, some of it wasn't—but it didn't matter. My reputation was ruined, and my partner... he never forgave me."

I blinked, taking in his words. This was the first time Oliver had ever opened up about why he had left New York, and it was nothing like what I had imagined. The stoic, confident man I had come to know was admitting to failure, to betrayal—and there was a rawness in his voice that made it clear this wasn't something he had moved on from.

"I thought I could outrun it," Oliver said bitterly, his gaze distant. "I thought if I left New York, if I hid away in some small town, I could leave it all behind. But it doesn't work like that. You can't outrun your mistakes."

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I didn't know what to say. I had always seen Oliver as this untouchable figure—gruff, confident, and self-assured. But now I saw the cracks in his armor, the weight of his own regrets.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked softly.

Oliver met my gaze, his eyes dark and serious. "Because you need to know that people can change, Charlotte. I've spent years running from my mistakes, convincing myself I didn't deserve a second chance. But maybe I do. And maybe... maybe Sam does too."

I swallowed hard, his words hitting me in a way I hadn't expected. I had been so focused on protecting Elliot, on keeping him safe from the chaos that Sam had brought into our lives, that I hadn't stopped to consider the possibility that Sam might have changed.

But could I really take that risk? Could I let Sam back into our lives, knowing how much damage he had caused the first time he left?

"I don't know if I can trust him," I said, my voice trembling.

Oliver stepped closer, his presence grounding me. "You don't have to decide right now. But whatever you do, don't let fear make the decision for you. If you do, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been."

I looked up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. He was right, of course. I had been so afraid of letting Sam back in that I hadn't stopped to consider the possibility that things could be different now.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Oliver's gaze softened, and for a moment, the tension between us shifted into something else—something deeper. I could feel the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between us, the unspoken attraction that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

But just as I opened my mouth to say something—anything—Elliot's voice rang out from the stairs.

"Mommy? Mr. Steele? What are you doing?"

The moment shattered, and I quickly turned away, feeling my cheeks flush. Oliver stepped back, his usual stoic expression slipping back into place.

"Just talking, buddy," I called out, my voice a little too bright. "Why don't you head back to bed?"

Elliot grumbled something under his breath but obediently turned and headed back upstairs. When he was out of sight, I glanced at Oliver, who was watching me with an unreadable expression.

"I should go," he said quietly.

"Yeah," I whispered, my heart still racing. "Yeah, you should."

As he turned to leave, I felt a pang of something I couldn't quite name—regret, maybe, or the lingering weight of everything left unsaid. I watched him walk out of the bakery, the door closing softly behind him, and I was left standing there, alone with my thoughts.

Oliver had opened up to me in a way I hadn't expected, and now I had a decision to make.

Not just about Sam.

But about Oliver too.