Autumn's POV

As I opened the door to the Rose-Finch Bakery, I was immediately greeted with a warm, homely atmosphere and the familiar scent of chocolate, pastry and sweet, sugary treats.

The soft buzz of chatter and laughter was a balm to my mind, relaxing me instantly. Feeling untroubled and content for the first time since this morning, I dumped my bag unceremoniously by the door, feeling lighter with each step.

Smiling, I made my way over to the counter, where a woman in her mid-forties was busy mixing drinks for customers. She looked up as I neared her, clearly expecting another person waiting in line to order, mouth already open to no doubt offer a friendly greeting.

But when she caught sight of my face, her eyes lit up, and her face broke into a smile.

Standing next to the counter awkwardly, I watched as she quickly rinsed her hands and folded the orange and gold flour-dusted apron she wore, depositing the neat bundle on the counter beside her.

Moments later, I was wrapped in a warm, snug embrace. The world faded until it was just us, mother and daughter, so close that no one and nothing could ever get between us.

When we finally pulled away, my mother grinned, eyes scanning my face as if this was the last time we would ever see each other and she wanted to commit each and every line of my face to memory.

"How was your day?" She asked.

The world shattered around me, every illusion of safety and happiness raining down in broken shards.

Thoughts and feelings I had been holding at bay since this morning rose up, threatening to drown me. Why had he been there this morning?

"Hey, Autumn!" His voice echoed through my head on repeat, dredging up unbidden reminders of the past.

Snatches of memories flashed by.

"Autumn? What about her?" It was my boyfriend's voice.

A chorus of drunk male laughs echoed. I recognised some of the voices. Eric was the one speaking. The laughs belonged to Tyler, Nathan and Richie. 

I knew without looking that Ryan Wood, my best friend's twin brother, was also there. It was a small mercy that he wasn't laughing with them.

I flattened myself against the wall, thankful for the darkness of night cloaking me. To hell with being the perfect, honest girlfriend that he thought I was. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but they were talking about me. I had a right to know what they were saying.

"Come on, man. You can't actually love her." It was Nathan this time. The last word was dripping with scorn and contempt.

Another chorus of laughs. Again, both Ryan and my boyfriend were silent, neither joining in nor contradicting the speaker.

A single tear slipped down my face. My boyfriend was the best person I knew. Surely he would stand up for me. I waited, heart in my throat. His next words dropped like bombshells.

"Of course, I don't love her. Autumn's so stupid, she can't take a hint."

Just as I was about to turn away, the sound of a fist connecting with a jaw made me stop in my tracks.

"If you ever talk about Autumn that way again, I will kill you. Do you understand?" I couldn't believe it. It was Ryan.

"What the hell, man?" The person spoke stiffly and it took me a moment to realise who it was. My boyfriend.

Ryan had punched my boyfriend in the jaw. 

I slowly backed away, not wanting to listen to their next words. I had heard enough.

"Why did you punch me? Is it because you have a crush on Autumn?" 

I was only half-listening to their receding words as I turned and ran, my bare feet silent on the lawn. I wouldn't be coming here again, to my boyfriend's - no, my ex-boyfriend's - house. Let him keep my flip-flops as a reminder of what he had said today. 

Let them taunt him every time he looked at them and wondered why I had left without a word and never spoken to him again. 

A warm hand on my cheek snapped me back to reality. I was frozen in place, my breaths coming out in short pants. I was having a mini panic attack, I realised.

Before I could let the realisation reach my face, I smiled, forcing my posture to relax until I was no longer standing ramrod straight. Mum had asked me a question, I realised. It would be suspicious if I didn't answer it.

She looked at me, concern shining in those stunning green-gold eyes that saw everything. If I didn't remember what she had asked me quickly, it would only take a few seconds for her to realise something was wrong.

Had she asked how I was, or how my day had gone? Scrambling frantically for an answer, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I'm fine, I had a long day," I lied smoothly, forcing a smile to my face, eyes crinkling at the corners. The same expression I had practised in front of the mirror since I was 9 years old until it came as naturally to me as breathing.

It was like slipping on a mask, hiding my feelings behind an impenetrable wall, shoving them deep down inside me until no indications of my thoughts could ever show on my face. I was pretty good at it by now.

Mum nodded, but I could tell she wasn't convinced. She opened her mouth, no doubt to question me further, but I was saved from inventing a lie on the spot by an excited squeal.

"Rosey, Rosey, you're back!" I didn't have to turn round to know who it belonged to. Only one person ever used that nickname for me, and that was my little sister.

When she was younger, my little sister had found Autumn too hard to pronounce, so had called me by my middle name "Rose", with a "y" on the end because, well, little kids did that to every word.

I turned around just in time to avoid being knocked over by the overenthusiastic six-year-old charging at my legs, colliding with a small "oof".

My knees buckling with the force of the impact, I narrowly avoided kneeing her in the face. She smiled up at me, carefree happiness shining in her gorgeous face, her green-brown eyes lit up with joy. The sight nearly knocked me breathless, evaporating all the worries and doubts plaguing my mind.

"Solstice Finch, be gentle," mum chided, but I could tell she was fighting a smile.

Somehow, my sister, who was eleven years younger than me but somehow ten times as socially savvy, sensed it too and stuck her tongue out. Before she could do anything that would actually annoy our mother, I scooped her up and sat her on my hip, grunting.

"You're getting heavy, Sol!" I remarked, using my own nickname for her.

When I caught sight of her face, I gasped, pretending to be horrified. "Have you been eating chocolate?"

Sol flashed me a toothy grin, clearly displaying the gap between her teeth, which was full of - yep, that was chocolate.

The tap of a cane nearby announced the presence of another family member.

"You'll get sticky handprints on Autumn's uniform," Gran scolded from behind me.

I grinned, whirling around, being careful not to lose my balance. "I don't mind," I said with a laugh. Motioning to the chocolate stains on my white school shirt, I added, "it's a little too late for that anyway."

I fell silent for a moment, gazing at my grandma. Try that they might, the wrinkles - laughter lines, she called them whenever someone pointed them out - couldn't hope to disguise her beauty.

Since Gramps had died 8 years ago, suitors had lined up one after another, but she had dismissed them all. 3 years on, after Gran rejected a millionaire who asked her out on a date, my curious 12-year-old self had asked why. With a faraway look in her eyes, Gran had vaguely mentioned someone else, before quickly changing the subject. 

I hadn't believed her then, dismissing it as a lie to keep me happy, but now I wasn't so sure. Considering the way her eyes - no, her whole self - had been glowing these past few months, I was tempted to believe that perhaps there was someone else in her life. 

I made a mental note to press her on it later.

Those same green eyes, flecked here and there with gold, near-twins to my mother's, gazed back at me now. And just like my mother's, those eyes saw everything.

"Come talk with me later," Gran said. While it sounded like a subtle request, I saw it for what it truly was: an order. Of course, she had seen right through my façade.

If anyone could heal a broken heart, it would be my grandma. As a nurse in the cold war, she had seen and experienced too much suffering throughout her lifetime to just pass by it like everyone else.

Sol tugged impatiently on my sleeve, interrupting my thoughts. Glancing down at her cute face, I smiled, hoisting her higher on my hip.

"Higher, Rosey," she demanded, small face arranged in an expression of mock seriousness.

"Bossy Boots," I reprimanded gently, but complied with her order, raising her until her small head was level with mine. At this point, it was useless trying to keep my shirt white. Just as Gran had predicted, she had left her sticky handprints all over it.

Sol stretched until her mouth was level with my ear. "Can we make pastries?" She whisper-shouted in my ear. I flinched at the loud noise, nearly dropping my little sister.

"Alright, alright. But first, you have to wash your hands, missy." 

Arms grumbling in protest, I lifted her up and onto my shoulders so I wouldn't accidentally drop her should she decide to burst my eardrums again. 

However, it also meant greasy hands, chocolate and slobber - a disgusting combination - rubbed into my hair. Ew. The things we do for our younger siblings...