Page 26 of Shattered Promise

Better than being seen like this.

I toss in a half-loaf of sourdough, some bananas, two premade salads, and a couple apples. Peanut butter, a pack of paper plates, a roll of paper towels, and some toilet paper join the cart. Basics only. I’m halfway to the checkout when I pass the cookie aisle. The Oreos stop me in my tracks. Two rows down, a shelf tag announceslimited edition.

"Birthday cakeandchocolate covered pretzel?" I hum quietly. Oreo never releases two limited edition flavors at once, so I'm sure one is left over from the previous run. But Oreos take forever to go bad, and frankly, I really want to try them both. I toss both packages into the cart.

“Of all the aisles, in all the stores, in all the cities . . .”

The voice is low and unmistakably familiar. My shoulders jerk up before I even turn.

Jake Lansing stands at the end of the aisle, grocery basket in one hand, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

My ex-boyfriend. Myalmost-fiancé.

Shit.

He looks the same in the ways that matter—same white button-down, same practiced charm. But something behind his eyes is different. Not colder exactly, just sharper. Like he’s evaluating me. Like I’m something he didn’t expect to find on the shelf.

“. . . this is where I find you,” he finishes, gaze locked on mine.

My heart thuds hard once, too loud in my chest. “What are you doing here, Jake?”

It comes out sharper than I mean it to. But in my defense, I chose this town on purpose. One buffer town away from recognition. Fromthis.

He shifts the grocery basket to his other hand and rocks back on his heels with a low whistle. "Wow, Abs. That’s all you’ve got after all this time?”

“Sorry.” I clear my throat, burying the wince behind my sunglasses. God, I hate that nickname. “I’m just . . . surprised to see you here, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well. Gotta get groceries.” He gestures lazily to the shelf behind me, like we’re coworkers exchanging pleasantries in a break room. Like we weren’t ever anything more than casual.

Like he didn’t used to touch me like he knew me.

Maybe he didn’t, though. Not really.

His gaze sweeps over me, lingering a little too long on the sunglasses, the loose hair, and the oversized hoodie I threw on to hide myself. He always hated this hoodie, but that tracks, considering he never liked Beau either.

“What about you?” he asks, brow lifted. “What brings you to Maple Grove tonight? And in sunglasses?”

My pulse jumps. It takes everything in me not to cross my arms or curl in on myself.

“Cookie emergency,” I say, fumbling for the lie. “And I, uh—migraine, so . . .”

Inside, I’m screaming. At him. At myself. To stop talking. To say more. To act normal. Be normal. Like I didn’t see a ghost the second he spoke.

The moment the words leave my mouth, I know he remembers. At least the cookie part. The migraine is more of ahalf-truth. Idohave a headache, but it’s not the kind darkness can fix.

His smile twitches, then fades into something closer to a sneer. “Yeah. I don’t miss that.”

“Right,” I murmur, the awkwardness thickening like static in the air around us.

He once told me my obsession with trying every limited edition Oreo was cute. Quirky, even.

But looking at him now, I wonder if maybe we were both pretending, just in different ways.

Every part of me wants to duck and run, but my feet stay rooted to the tile.

My skin prickles with awareness, heat creeping up the back of my neck like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. Embarrassment crawls under my skin in red-hot strokes, sharp and sour. I don’t even know what I’m embarrassedabout.The sunglasses? The lie? The fact that I let someone who didn’t really see me get so close for so long? That I broke up with him? That I like Oreos?

Jake exhales slowly, the sound edging toward a condescending laugh. “You know, I caught myself looking for them around Christmas.” He nods toward the shelf like it might offer a lifeline. “Habit, I guess. I spent years of my life in these aisles with you, hunting down whatever weird flavor they released that month. Guess it takes a while to unlearn that.”