Buttery Buns ch.2

"Well, she lied to you," Harry responds, his heart pounding like a heavy metal drum. With a lip bite, tears well up in Daphne's eyes as she pleads, "Will you never forgive me, Max?"

Harry growls, finding her question absurd. "Do you really expect that?"

A tear rolls down her cheek as Daphne blinks, her expression filled with sorrow. "I know I have no right to ask, but I'd do anything to make it up to you."

Endless possibilities flood Harry's mind as he attempts to decipher her words. His hand travels downward, caressing her collarbone, drawing nearer to where he wants to be. Daphne trembles, her legs nearly giving way. He catches her before she falls and gazes into her silky lips, battling the desire to kiss her. For heaven's sake, how can he still want this? He abruptly lets her go, his voice dripping with anger. "No matter what you do, darling," he growls in her ear, "you won't erase the pain I endured or the man without a heart you turned me into."

Her contrite expression morphs into disappointment and pain. "I'm so sorry, Max, for what I did to you. The restaurant was struggling, and my parents owed goblins money. Theodore promised to pay off their debts so they could keep the restaurant..."

Theodore must be her husband, Harry deduces, glancing at her hand but finding no ring. What does that mean? Well, there's only one possibility. She's no longer with the guy. This would also explain her return to town. Harry briefly battles his curiosity and refocuses on the conversation. "You could have at least informed me before you left for him. I had to find out from Susan."

"I wanted to. I asked you to come home that weekend. You said you would, but you didn't. I waited for you all day on Saturday."

Harry takes a moment to recall that event. Right. He was supposed to come home that weekend, but college assignments had consumed him. It was his first year in college, and looming final exams overwhelmed him. But if he had known what she wanted to talk about, he would have dropped everything. "I'm sorry," he says. "I called you several times, but you weren't home."

"Because I was shuttling back and forth between your house and the bakery like a madwoman, waiting for you to show up."

"You should have told me through the fireplace."

"I couldn't. Every time I was in the fireplace to your dorm, your roommate answered, and I didn't feel comfortable discussing it in his presence."

Right. Neither of them had a cell phone back then.

"If you loved me so much, why did you go to Houston? We both knew you weren't serious about coming home and taking over the bakery with a college diploma," Daphne accuses.

Harry pauses for a moment. "Okay, I wasn't. But I was planning to take you to Houston or wherever I ended up working someday."

"Ron said the same thing to Susan," she retorts.

Right. This was around the time Ron and Susan broke up after she found out he was seeing another girl from their college. Susan and Daphne became friends and had to share their secrets and distrust of men.

"But I'm not Ron," Harry argues, though deep down, he can't blame her for losing faith in him given the circumstances.

Daphne continues, "You acted like him. At first, you came home every week, then every other week, and then once a month."

Damn. She's right again. Harry fights to suppress the guilt lurking at the back of his mind. "You're using that as an excuse. You got tired of waiting for me. You're a gold digger, just like your mom." Damn. The words spill from his mouth without his brain's filter. Rumors had it that Daphne's mom married her dad for money, although the man didn't look wealthy, at least during the years he lived in Hogsmeade.

Pain flickered in Daphne's eyes. "I should go now. Could you let me go, please?"

Damn. His hand still rested on her shoulder.

He clears his throat, withdraws his hand, and steps out of the storage room. He pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a seat at the table. Moments later, he hears Daphne's footsteps, but he refrains from looking up. "See you later, Max. Take care," she says.

He doesn't respond or look at her. He doesn't know what to say because he suddenly feels like he's split into two different beings: the thirty-eight-year-old man he is now and the eighteen-year-old boy he once was. The thirty-eight-year-old man wants nothing to do with this unfaithful woman, while the eighteen-year-old teenager yearns to chase after her.

Only when Daphne exits the store does he sneak a glance at her retreating figure in the parking lot. She's wearing a blue dress that immediately transports him back to a Christmas ball. The color matches her ball gown, but this one is shorter and tighter. Hell, he can't resist the memories of her long legs wrapped around his waist when they made love.

Damn. He needs to get a grip on himself. He stands up and turns around, trying to redirect his attention elsewhere. He notices Amaretti cookies in a glass jar on the counter and doesn't hesitate to grab one and pop it into his mouth. He takes a big, crunchy bite and savors the sweet, nutty taste and the aroma of toasted almonds. These cookies are Susan's specialty, hence her nickname, Cookie. He quickly devours the rest of the cookie and reaches for another.

His hand remains in the jar as the doorbell rings, and Susan enters, holding a box of strawberries.

"Ha! Caught red-handed with your hand in the cookie jar," she says, laughing.

"They're delicious, Susan," Harry says before taking another bite. "Although they're a bit too sweet."

Susan rolls her eyes. "Same old health nut, aren't you? This isn't America; it's Hogsmeade. Nobody eats healthy here."

"That's not true," he chuckles, pushing the rest of the cookie into his mouth. He takes the box of fruit from her and heads to the kitchen. "So, what are these for?"

"For a birthday cake," she replies. "A rum strawberry cake."

"Sounds nice. Can I help?"

"Not right now. I'll do it tomorrow. But for now, I need to prep the bread dough for the night baker."

"Alright, I can help with that too."

"Sure, since you're so eager. But do you remember how?"

He rolls his eyes. "I still bake occasionally."

Harry washes his hands and puts on an apron before helping Susan measure the ingredients for Ciabatta bread loaves.

"I miss this," he says, inhaling the scent of fresh flour mixed with yeast. The crispy, stretchy bread was the cornerstone of their menu, and he had been making it since he was eight years old.

"I bet you do. You used to eat so much of it. It's a miracle you didn't gain weight like Ron," Susan comments, pouring olive oil into the mixture.

"That's because it's the healthiest thing we have. No sugar, butter, or milk."

"True."

He watches as she stirs the mixture into a sticky dough and then empties it onto the countertop. Harry nudges her aside. "Alright, my turn."

She raises her hands. "All yours."

Harry eagerly kneads the dough, relishing the feel of its soft, elastic texture. Susan watches him for a moment with approval. "Good. Looks like you haven't lost your touch."

"I told you. I still bake occasionally. It's my favorite pastime," he replies honestly. Baking brings him satisfaction—both as a scientific process and as an artistic expression. Kneading dough isn't as vigorous as lifting weights, but it provides a focused and calming workout.

"You're such a perfect guy, Max," Susan's voice turns husky. "It's strange; why are you still single?"

He shrugs, not responding, and after a moment of silence, he speaks again. "Have you met my employee?"

He expected this topic, but it took him a moment to come up with a response. "Yes. Why did you hire her? Please tell me it's only temporary."

Susan narrows her eyes briefly, then smiles. "I understand. You still haven't reconciled with her."

"What are you talking about? I reconciled with her a long time ago," Harry mutters, kneading the dough more forcefully than necessary, inadvertently shaking the table.

"Calm down, bro," Susan scolds him. "Don't wreck my table. I mean, you haven't reconciled with her working here."

Damn, this woman is sharp. "I just don't like being reminded of the past."

"And that's because you still feel something for her."

Damn, this woman. He stares into her eyes, trying to convince not only her but also himself. He blurts out, "Not at all!"

She leans in closer. "You do. She's your first and only love, and you know how stubborn the Potters can be."

She's not entirely right, but he's not in the mood to correct her. "Maybe," he says with a sigh. "And it's her fault too."

"Come on," she says, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. "Max, it's time to let go of the past. She hurt you, but she didn't really have a choice. Her father forced her..."

"She didn't have to obey his wishes..."

Susan sighs in frustration. "Damn it, Max. That was so long ago. Why can't you forgive her? Not to preach, but her marriage didn't even last, and she went through some tough times."

That confirms the absence of a ring on her finger. Damn. Harry feels like such a petty jerk. "Yes," he says, interrupting his task. "But when I saw her standing in front of me, all the feelings I thought I'd forgotten came rushing back, as if it all happened yesterday. It still hurts like hell when I remember how I lost her..."

He stops speaking and takes a deep breath, overwhelmed by emotions in his chest and a lump in his throat. Damn. Am I crying?

"Oh, Max. I'm so sorry." Susan steps closer and envelops him in her arms. Her soft curves provide instant comfort. He awkwardly hugs her back, making sure not to touch her with his flour-dusted hands.

Oddly, even though Susan has always been shorter and smaller than him, her arms always seemed stronger than they appeared. He remembers a moment right after Daphne broke up with him. He had no one else to turn to. Susan held him just like this when he tried to accept the unbelievable fact that his girlfriend had married someone else. And all of this happened around the same time Susan was going through her own breakup.

He pulls away from her after relishing in her warmth. Ashamed, he returns to kneading the bread dough, avoiding Susan's penetrating gaze. Damn. Because of her, he feels like that awkward teenager he used to be. His feelings for Susan are so complicated that he doesn't even understand them himself. He loves her like a sister and cares for her like a friend, but when they get this close, he can't restrain the desire that creeps into his gut. This is wrong, he reminds himself. He remembers Sirius warning him not to cross that boundary.

"Are you done with Ron?" he asks Susan.

She looks surprised. "What a silly question! Of course, I am. I reconciled with him a million years ago."

"Then why aren't you married?" He's always wondered about this because Susan is the most beautiful woman in Hogsmeade.

"I haven't found the right guy," she says, shrugging. "But I've been on dates."

Right. He vaguely remembers the faces of a few guys, including the most recent one from Aurora Hogsmeade. But they never lasted.

"Are you with someone now?" he asks. She doesn't answer but smiles. "Are you hitting on me, Max?" she teases with a flirtatious tone, her eyes sparkling.

Damn. "Of course not," he hurriedly denies. "You're out of reach, Susan."

The fire in her eyes immediately extinguishes, and she nods. "Right. I'm your sister, and you're my brother."

Damn. This woman. He squeezes the dough one last time and shapes it into a round form. "It's done," he says to Susan, dusting his hands off.

"Good job!" Susan presses a finger into the dough to check its consistency. She nods with satisfaction as the dough springs back. "Are you sure you don't want to quit your goblin job and work at the bakery?"

He chuckles. "Trust me, I consider that option every time I get stuck debugging shields." And that happens to shield specialists almost every day.

"It's not too late to make the move," Susan says, placing the dough back in the bowl and covering it with a damp cloth. "You're always welcome here. I mean, as long as we have the bakery."