CHAPTER 282: SELECTIVE FOCUS

‎It had been a week since the cake incident — the "prehistoric dessert disaster," as Mateo called it — and somehow, life had found its easy rhythm again.

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‎The bakery smelled of vanilla and roasted coffee, the air warm with late afternoon light. I was finishing the last of the frosting on a batch of strawberry cupcakes when a gentle chime pulsed from my wrist.

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‎I glanced down. The sleek smartwatch on my wrist blinked in soft blue.

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‎"Time’s up," I murmured, wiping my hands on my apron.

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‎Pedro looked up from his office doorway. "Time’s up for what?"

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‎"My reminder," I said, tapping the screen. "I told you — Aria and I have that thing today."

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‎"I don’t think he knows what you mean. That’s how old people are," Mateo said, grinning. "They forget things easily. They could even forget they were supposed to take a dump."

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‎Pedro’s head snapped toward him. "Mateo."

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‎"Yes, boss?"

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‎"Do you still want to keep your job?"

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‎Mateo straightened immediately. "Absolutely. Lips sealed. Mouth retired." He mimed zipping his lips shut, then dramatically threw away the key.

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‎I couldn’t help but laugh.

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‎"What thing were you talking about, Isabella?" Pedro asked, frowning like a man genuinely betrayed by his own memory.

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‎"The amusement park, Pedro," I said with mock exasperation. "You really don’t remember? I told you when I came in this morning."

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‎Pedro blinked. "You and your friend go to an amusement park every week?"

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‎"Every Wednesday and Saturday, and no, it’s not only an amusement park," I said, laughing. "It’s all on here." I lifted the watch. "Aria made me wear it. Says it keeps my life from falling apart. It tells me when to eat, rest, exercise, reminds me when to take my meds, even tracks my steps and heart rate, doctors appointment, everything."

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‎Mateo’s voice came from behind the counter. "She’s not wrong. You’d probably not want to say your own name if someone asked and that thing didn’t buzz. You’re stubborn"

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‎I shot a mock-glare in Mateo’s direction, though he was now conveniently hidden, only the top of his messy brown hair visible above the stainless-steel counter. "I’m not stubborn, I’m... selectively focused."

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‎"On everything but yourself," Peace who had gone to serve a costumer finished and now returned with a tray of empty plates, chimed in with a knowing smirk. "Remember when you skipped breakfast for three days straight because you were ’fixing the perfect crème brûlée’?"

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‎Pedro groaned, rubbing his temples. "Ay, Dios mío. No wonder you passed out in the walk-in freezer that one time."

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‎"It was a very important crème brûlée!" I protested.

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‎"Yes, your highness." Mateo said mimicking someone that is high on something.

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‎"Don’t mock the pastry queen," I said, playfully swatting at the back of Mateo’s head as he ducked out of reach. "Pedro, you know I’d die for this bakery and its perfect crème brûlés."

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‎"Speaking of which, have you perfected the recipe yet?" Pedro asked, his eyes lighting up at the mention of our signature dessert.

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‎"Almost," I said, smiling slyly. "I just need to—" and that was when the bell above the bakery door chimed.

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‎"Oh no," Mateo muttered under his breath. "Brace yourselves."

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‎And just like that, the energy in the room changed — brightened, sparkled.

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‎"There you are!" she said immediately, spotting me behind the counter. "Took you long enough to answer."

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‎I blinked. "Answer what? You texted me thirty seconds ago."

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‎"Exactly." She grinned, walking straight towards me like she owned the place. "That’s thirty seconds too long."

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‎Pedro looked up from his clipboard, smiling faintly. "Good afternoon, Miss Aria."

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‎"Hi, Pedro!" she sang, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Still refusing to take a vacation?"

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‎He lifted an eyebrow. "Still refusing to stop disrupting my staff?"

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‎"Never," she said cheerfully, before turning back to me. "You ready?"

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‎"Define ready."

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‎Aria looked me over, lips pursing. "You smell like sugar and regret. Go clean up."

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‎Mateo snorted. "Her natural perfume."

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‎"Watch it," I warned, pointing the spatula at him.

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‎Peace didn’t even look up. "You two are exhausting."

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‎Aria rolled her eyes, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward the break room. "Ignore them. We’re going to the amusement park. You’ve got ten minutes to stop smelling edible."

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‎"Rude," I said, letting her pull me along.

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‎"True," she countered. "Also, your watch told on you. Didn’t I set it to remind you to eat, rest, and stop overworking?"

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‎"You did," I muttered, scrubbing my hands in the sink. "But it didn’t say anything about fending off your ambushes."

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‎By the time I changed into jeans and a soft cream blouse, Aria was leaning against the doorway, scrolling through her phone.

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‎She looked up, smiling approvingly. "Much better. You look like a responsible adult with her life together."

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‎I grabbed my bag. "So basically, a lie."

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‎She grinned. "Exactly. Now let’s go play make-believe."

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‎As we stepped out, Pedro called from his office, "Bring something I can’t pronounce but will probably regret eating!"

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‎"Only if you stop lurking like a retired spy!" Aria shot back.

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‎His dry voice followed us out. "I own the place, Aria."

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‎"Same thing!" she said, waving as we disappeared through the door.

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‎The late afternoon sun spilled gold over the cobblestones outside as we crossed the street to her car. The city always felt different at this hour — like it was exhaling after a long day, the traffic softening into murmurs, the bakeries and cafés glowing like little pockets of warmth.

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‎Aria slid into the driver’s seat and tapped her phone against the console. Music filled the car — something bright, a rhythm that felt like skipping stones over water.

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‎"Okay," she said, glancing at me. "Goal for today?"

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‎I buckled my seatbelt, pretending to think. "Avoid throwing up after too many spinning rides?"

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‎She laughed. "No, the real goal: find something that scares you, and do it anyway."

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‎"Aria..." I groaned. "We’re going to an amusement park, not a therapy session."

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‎"It’s both," she said, pulling into traffic. "See, you already spend your days a week icing cupcakes like they’re Fabergé eggs even though you kept talking about how you broke up with Max and still don’t feel any pain but feel like you are missing something. I’m just expanding your horizons. You need chaos, thrill, sugar rushes that don’t involve things that will make you think."

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‎I sighed, but couldn’t stop smiling. "One of these days, your motivational speeches will actually work."

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‎"Oh, they already do," she said smugly. "You just need time to realize it."

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