"Is this... a business plan?"
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. That notebook containseverything. The franchise dreams I sketched out on napkins during Morgan's nap times. Expansion layouts for a Butter Batch empire across multiple locations, a commercial kitchen, branded packaging with the golden whisk logo I designed myself.
There are old real estate listings I printed out and highlighted, back when I still let myself believe it was possible. Detailed drawings of shop layouts and menu concepts for seasonal rotations. Even the five-year financial projections I did the math on during late nights after Morgan was asleep are still smudged in there somewhere.
All of it abandoned.
All of it shelved.
Because dreams are for people who don't have school drop-offs and bills and a daughter who needs her mother to bepresent, not distracted by impossible futures.
Colt looks up at me, and for the first time today, his expression isn't teasing. Those bright blue eyes have gone soft.Curious. Like he's seeing something he didn't expect to find in the back of a small-town bakery.
"Zoey." His voice is quieter than I've ever heard it. "This is incredible. Why aren't you—"
I snatch the notebook from his hands, hugging it to my chest like I can shove all those dreams back inside and pretend he never saw them.
"It's nothing. Old stuff. Just… drop it, okay?"
But the damage is done.
He's seen it. The version of myself I stopped letting exist. That notebook is my secret heart. My proof that I used to wantmore.
I feel exposed in a way that's worse than if he saw my stretch marks.
"Old stuff?" Colt leans against the counter, arms crossed, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "That doesn't look old. That looks like someone who knows exactly what she wants."
"Knew." I correct him sharply. "Past tense."
"What happened?"
The question is so simple. So genuine. And I don't know what to do with Colt Lane looking at me like he is.
"Life happened." I shrug, but the casual gesture feels hollow. "Morgan happened. Chilmore happened. Turns out you can't build an empire when you're barely keeping the lights on."
He's quiet for a moment. The only sound is the popping of the mountain of bubbles threatening to overflow the sink.
"You really thought you could do all that?" He nods toward the notebook. "The franchise thing?"
"IknewI could do it." The words come out fiercer than I intended. "I had a blog. I had the plan. The recipes. I had—" I stop myself, swallowing hard. "It doesn't matter now."
"Why not?"
"Because some things matter more." I meet his eyes, and that old sinking feeling in my gut weighs heavy again. "Morgan matters more. I can't chase dreams when my daughter needs me."
Colt sighs heavily, then pushes off the counter and takes a step closer. "You know what I see when I look at that notebook?"
I don't answer.
"I see someone who believed in her dreams." He reaches out, and for one heart-stopping second I think he's going to touchme, but his fingers just brush the edge of the worn leather cover I'm clutching like a shield. "And I don't think dreams expire, Zoey."
Colt's gaze drops to my mouth, and my breath catches. I swear to God, he leans in and my traitorous body sways toward him like he's magnetic.
Is he going to—
Do I want him to—
Oh god, I want him to.