Chapter 20: Pieces of Sweetness
The next morning was quieter, gentler.
Alya sat on a stool inside the damaged cake shop, sunlight peeking through the cracked window. The place was a mess—broken chairs, smashed counters, and flour dust in the air like a ghost of what once was. But despite it all, she was smiling.
Jake walked in carrying a toolbox, followed by Alex with a plank of wood across his shoulder.
"Hope you're ready for some renovation," Jake said, grinning.
Alya chuckled, brushing hair from her face. "I've got brooms, trash bags, and burned-out dreams. Take your pick."
They got to work.
Jake patched the walls. Alex hammered new shelves. Alya swept and sorted through the mess. The three of them laughed more than they talked—but it felt good. It felt healing.
Later, as Alya stepped outside to call her mother, Alex wiped his hands and leaned against the wall, eyes on Jake.
"So," he said casually, "who is she? Alya, I mean."
Jake paused.
Then, quietly, he answered, "She was my classmate back in high school. We were friends. She's smart, sharp-tongued, always believed in people more than herself."
Alex nodded. "And?"
Jake's eyes lowered. "She's… Lisa's best friend."
At that name—Lisa—his voice caught. The weight in his chest came rushing back, like gravity had suddenly doubled. He sat down on a half-finished bench, staring at the floor.
"I hadn't seen her since graduation. Seeing Alya just reminded me of all the things I left behind. Or… ruined."
Alex didn't speak right away. He just stood beside him, arms crossed.
Jake went on, voice quieter now. "Lisa was the one person who always saw through my act. When I got kicked out, I cut ties. Thought it'd be easier. Thought I didn't deserve her."
Alex sat beside him.
"She loved you?" he asked gently.
Jake nodded. "Yeah. And I broke her heart before she could break mine."
Silence stretched.
Then Alex said, "You're not the same guy anymore, Jake."
"I know," Jake whispered. "But I don't know if I can ever make it right."
Alex glanced toward the shop, where Alya was now back, laughing with a neighbor as she handed out leftover pastries.
"Maybe," Alex said, "you don't need to make it right all at once. Maybe you just start with helping her rebuild. One brick at a time."
Jake smiled faintly. "You sound like a therapist."
Alex shrugged. "I lift things and feelings."
They both laughed.
And for the first time that day, the ache in Jake's chest didn't feel quite so heavy.