Walker's penthouse was everything a CEO's residence should be—immaculate, modern, and silent. Too silent. He stood in his kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee, but it didn't taste the same. The beans were expensive, hand-selected, roasted to perfection. And yet, he missed Lena's slightly too-strong brew, served in mismatched mugs with sugar he hadn't asked for but drank anyway.
He tried diving into work. He spent hours at his desk reviewing contracts, scheduling board meetings, and preparing for the Peterson merger. His phone buzzed constantly. Everyone wanted something. His mind should have been fully on the job—but it wasn't.
Midday, he found himself staring out the window again, fingers tapping absently against the edge of his desk. He had half a dozen messages from department heads and one from Ava about a dinner with investors. Still, all he wanted to do was check in on Lena.
When he finally gave in and called, her voice came through the line, soft and sweet. "Hey, stranger."
He smiled. "Hey. How's the bakery?"
"Busy. I think your cookie-obsessed assistant started a trend. People keep asking for 'whatever cookies made the CEO of Harper Global smile.'"
Walker laughed. "That's a terrifying reputation to have."
"It's kind of adorable," she teased. "But also… I miss you hovering in my kitchen and stealing muffins."
His breath caught at that. "I miss being there."
They talked for a few more minutes—casual things, easy things—but underneath the laughter, there was a thread of longing neither of them could quite tug free.
That evening, Lena stood alone in the bakery, rearranging tomorrow's display in a way that clearly didn't need rearranging. She tried focusing on the little things: inventory, prep lists, flour orders. But Walker lingered in her head like the scent of cinnamon in her walls.
She hadn't realized how much she'd grown used to him being nearby. His presence had filled the spaces in her home, her routine—her heart. And now, those same spaces felt too big again.
She went upstairs to her apartment and settled on the couch, flipping through a magazine she didn't absorb. The silence pressed in. She thought about texting him, but didn't want to seem clingy.
Walker, meanwhile, paced his penthouse, drink in hand, tie loose around his neck. He should've been prepping for tomorrow's board presentation. Instead, he opened his messages to Lena, thumb hovering.
Finally, he typed:
"Still up? Or am I the only one thinking about blueberry muffins and someone who always burns the first batch?"
The typing dots appeared instantly.
"I never burn them. I brown them. There's a difference."
He grinned and sank into his couch.
"Is that what you're telling yourself tonight?"
"You're lucky I like you."
His heart warmed. It was small. Playful. But exactly what he needed.
They stayed like that, trading messages until well past midnight. No grand declarations. Just comfort, closeness, connection.
And though they were miles apart in space, they were still tethered—by habit, by memories, by something growing stronger every day.
As the city outside dimmed into quiet, Walker turned off his lamp and lay back in bed, phone still in hand. His last message from Lena sat on the screen—a simple heart emoji sent after a string of playful banter. It shouldn't have made his chest ache the way it did, but it did. He missed her scent on his clothes, the sound of her laughter bouncing through the halls, the way her hand brushed his when they reached for the same spoon. He'd left her house to draw a boundary, but all it had done was make him realize how deeply tangled in her life—and in her—he already was.