The shift didn't happen suddenly.
It built quietly, the way most important things in Dani's life did — through repetition, proximity, and moments that lingered longer than they should.
The bakery had settled back into rhythm. Morning rushes came and went. Regulars returned to familiar routines. The square moved forward without remembering how close things had come to changing.
But between Dani and Parker, the air had changed.
Not visibly.
Not in ways anyone else could name.
Just awareness.
Dani noticed it in small things. The way Parker's hand brushed the small of her back when passing behind her in tight spaces. The way conversations paused a fraction too long before either of them looked away. The way silence between them no longer felt empty.
It felt charged.
She tried not to think about it.
That lasted until Thursday afternoon.
The bakery was quieter than usual, rain tapping softly against the windows and keeping customers away. Dani worked at the prep table, sleeves rolled up, focused on finishing an order before closing.
Parker sat nearby, reviewing something on his laptop, the steady presence of him oddly comforting.
Too comforting.
"You're staring again," he said without looking up.
"I am not."
He glanced at her then, one eyebrow raised.
Dani sighed. "Okay, maybe a little."
"What are you thinking about?"
She hesitated.
"Nothing useful."
He smiled faintly. "That's rarely true."
She wiped flour from her hands and leaned back against the counter. The quiet of the bakery pressed in around them, softened by rain and the hum of refrigeration.
"I'm trying to remember what normal felt like before all of this," she admitted.
"And?"
"I think this might be it," she said slowly. "Which is strange."
"Why?"
"Because it doesn't feel the same."
Parker closed his laptop, giving her his full attention now. "Different doesn't mean worse."
"I know," she said. "It just means… unfamiliar."
The word lingered between them.
Unfamiliar.
The distance between them suddenly felt smaller than the room allowed.
Dani became acutely aware of everything — the sound of rain, the warmth of the ovens cooling behind her, the way Parker watched her without urgency.
Waiting.
He always waited.
"That must get exhausting," she said quietly.
"What?"
"Letting me set every pace."
His expression softened slightly. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because you always move forward eventually," he said. "You just need to know it's your choice."
The honesty unsettled her.
Not because it was wrong — because it was right.
She pushed away from the counter and walked toward the front windows, watching rain streak down the glass. For months, every decision had been about survival, defense, and holding ground.
Now there was space again.
And space meant feeling things she'd kept carefully contained.
"You could have pushed," she said without turning around.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you?"
Parker stood, crossing the room slowly but stopping a respectful distance behind her. "Because I didn't want you to wonder later if it was pressure."
The answer landed deep.
Dani turned then, closer than she realized, her pulse suddenly loud in her ears.
"And now?" she asked softly.
His voice dropped. "Now I'm wondering if waiting is harder."
The air shifted.
The tension that had built across weeks finally surfaced, undeniable and immediate. Dani could feel it in the space between them, in the way neither stepped back.
This wasn't a strategy.
This wasn't protection.
This was a choice.
Her hand lifted almost without thinking, resting lightly against his chest. She felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, grounding and dangerous at the same time.
Parker didn't move.
Didn't reach for her.
Still waiting.
"Say something," she whispered.
"What do you want me to say?"
She swallowed. "That this isn't complicated."
He shook his head slightly. "It is."
The honesty made her laugh softly, breath unsteady. "You're terrible at this."
"I'm careful," he said again.
The words were familiar now.
So was the feeling.
Dani stepped closer, close enough that the distance disappeared entirely. For a moment, neither of them moved — suspended between decision and restraint.
It would have been easy.
That was the problem.
Easy felt dangerous after everything they'd been through.
Her fingers curled slightly in his shirt, and for the first time, Parker's composure slipped just enough to show how much restraint it cost him.
"Dani," he said quietly, warning and invitation at once.
She looked up at him, searching his face.
"We don't have to rush this," he added.
The fact that he meant it made her chest tighten.
"I know," she said.
But she didn't step away.
The moment stretched — heat, tension, months of unspoken emotion narrowing into something fragile and undeniable.
And then the timer in the kitchen went off.
The sharp sound shattered the moment.
Dani laughed, breathless, stepping back as reality rushed in again. "Of course."
Parker exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Good timing."
"Or terrible," she said.
Neither of them moved for a second.
Then Dani turned back to the kitchen, finishing the order with hands that weren't quite steady anymore.
The rest of the evening passed quietly, both of them aware of what had almost happened.
Almost.
After closing, they stood at the door together again, the rain finally easing outside.
"This changes things," Dani said softly.
"Yes."
She looked at him. "Are you okay with that?"
"I've been waiting for it," he replied.
She nodded slowly. "Me too."
But neither reached for the other again that night.
Not yet.
Because some moments needed space to become real.
Upstairs later, Dani lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the almost in her mind — not with regret, but anticipation.
For the first time since this began, the tension between them wasn't something to manage.
It was something to explore.
And downstairs, in the quiet bakery that had witnessed everything else, the air still held the echo of a moment that hadn't happened…yet.