She texted slowly, unsure what to say:

Thanks. I’m here actually. But

A knock sounded at the passenger-side window, interrupting her. Regina looked over; it was her nemesis.

Sophie pointed down at the seat.

“You want to come in here?” Regina asked aloud.

Sophie nodded.

Regina put away the phone and unlocked the door. She sat up in the bucket seat as Sophie entered the car, though unfortunately, Regina was still shorter than Sophie’s seated form. “What do you want?”

“Look. You can’t leave,” Sophie said. “Adelaide needs you.”

So Sophie was going to play the role of a martyr. Regina rolled her eyes. Immature, yes, but they were in her car, and she could do what she damn well pleased. “Looks to me you have that covered.”

“I’m mad at her, too, you know. I didn’t know you were coming. But we’re here now, and you heard what she said about needing the both of us.”

Regina snorted. “C’mon. You don’t believe that entirely, do you? One of us would have sufficed. She’s trying to get us to make up.”

“I thought of that. But she’s also one of the strongest women we know—we have to trust that she knows what she needs.”

“We don’t have to do anything.”

Sophie clasped her hands in her lap. “I tried. Stay or go. It’s your conscience.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks, Mom.” Regina looked away, toward the front windshield. Her actual mother would kill her for how rude she was being, but Sophie and her righteousness was the last thing she had expected or wanted today. Or any day of the last decade.

After seconds of silence in the car, she heard Sophie open the passenger-side door, slide out of her seat, and shut the door.

Without thinking, Regina placed Baby in drive.

Coming around the corner onto Burg Street, the main street of Old Town, the traffic was heavy. Cars cruised down the road at a snail’s pace, much slower than the tourists’ gaits on the sidewalk. The street bustled with a kind of optimism, the vibe quite the contrast to her sleepy military town, and a feeling bloomed in her belly. It might have been because DC was just a stone’s throw away that Old Town absorbed this energy. Or maybe because the old buildings carried their own history, inspiring a wish that her catering business could take up residence behind one of these shop windows.

It was only when she passed a bar called the Whistling Pig, written in a calligraphy font on a hanging wooden sign, that it dawned on her why her nostalgia had reared its ugly head: this place reminded her of Millersville’s Main Street.

She shook her head to derail her meandering thoughts and looked at the map on her phone. The freeway was up ahead about five miles. Five more miles, and she could put all of this behind her.

At a stoplight, a herd of people meandered past in the crosswalk. On the right, Regina spotted a shop’s purple-and-white awning. The front window, decorated with colorful vinyl lettering that spelled out Just Cakes, featured a white, four-tiered model cake on a stand. Two small children milled in front of the window, hands against the glass, peeking in, no doubt hoping to catch sight of more cakes inside.

Regina stilled. Just Cakes.

Henry Just of Just Cakes.

Her brain flipped to a new page.

He’s in there.

At that moment, those children at the front window were possibly watching Henry work. In real life.

Would it be weird for her to just show up unannounced?

What was there to lose, now that she’d walked out of her friend’s house?

Regina growled at her ping-pong of emotions and at the next street turned into an open parking space.

She swallowed her nervousness and sorted through her cluttered thoughts. She and Henry had had a revealing and intimate online friendship, DMs constantly flowing. They’d discussed everything business related; Regina had found solace writing to Henry’s beautiful face. There was a freedom in their veiled anonymity; the computer screen was like a confessional, and Henry had responded reliably and thoughtfully. He’d remembered the things she told him. He’d checked in on her on event days. Such small gestures, but gestures she’d wished her ex would’ve picked up on when they had been married.

But seeing Henry in real life… this was opening Pandora’s box, and especially now, in her grim mood. Would he be as gracious as he was online? Would he be as kind? What if he smelled or had bad breath?

A woman across the street called the children from the window, who bounded away, exposing the shadows of movement inside.

Don’t be a fraidy-cat, Regina. You’re friends.

She heaved a breath and straightened her posture.

Oh God, am I really doing this?

She stepped out of the car.

Yes, yes, I am.

With faux confidence, she jaywalked across the street, and upon reaching the door of Just Cakes, she opened it with much more strength than she’d anticipated and it flew inside with a bang.

The heads of the crowd inside swiveled toward her, and silence fell over the shop. Had she not been so consumed with the stares of the individuals, then she would have been able to adequately take in the bright room, the hanging star lights that added whimsy, and the high round tables where groups congregated for samples of cake. How quaint it all was.

She also didn’t fully grasp that the man she wanted to see was approaching her, not until he was two feet away. Henry Just, in all of his baker glory and then some. He wore an apron over an oxford shirt, with one of its collars caught in the apron’s neckline. His hair, curly up top and cropped on the sides, had bits of blond woven in with red, which hadn’t shown in his photographs.