Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
CHARLES
The familiar rhythm of kneading dough usually calmed my nerves, but this morning, even the therapeutic motion of folding and rolling couldn’t quiet the anxious energy thrumming through my veins.
I’d been up since four a.m., unable to sleep, and by the time I made it to Sweet Relief, I’d already put in two solid hours of baking.
The morning rush had been as busy as the day before, but around nine-thirty, it finally petered out, and I headed to the back to make cinnamon rolls while Dani and Judith, one of my part-timers, worked the register.
The scent of butter and cinnamon should have been comforting, but instead it reminded me of how normal my life had been three days ago.
Three days ago, my biggest worry had been whether Mrs. Henderson would manage to decide on a flavor for her anniversary cake before the day came, and whether I’d be able to find the right teal color for Bonnie Feldmayer’s mermaid cake for her twelfth birthday.
Now I was living with a fake boyfriend who was actually a cop, hiding from a murderous mob boss, and trying not to think about how badly I wanted to kiss said fake boyfriend.
Life had gotten complicated fast.
“You’re going to overwork that dough if you keep going at it like that,” Eamon observed from his spot at the small table in the back corner, where he’d been nursing the same cup of coffee for the past hour while supposedly reading something on his iPad.
“It’s therapeutic,” I replied, adding a bit more force to my kneading than strictly necessary. “And it keeps my hands busy so I don’t do something stupid like text my parents to tell them I might be in mortal danger.”
Thank god they were on a cruise because if they’d been home, I wasn’t sure I would’ve been able to keep this from them. My mom had always been able to read every emotion on my face, and she sure as hell would’ve picked up on my anxiety now.
Eamon sat up a little straighter. “Definitely don’t do that. If they’re monitoring your messages, that would be a fatal mistake.”
Fatal? As if I needed a reminder of the trouble I was in. “Not helping.”
“Sorry.” He set down his tablet and moved closer, leaning against the metal prep counter. “Want to talk about it?”
“About what? The fact that some psychopath might want to murder me? Or the fact that I can barely sleep because every time I close my eyes, I picture him showing up at my door with a gun?”
I shaped the dough into a rectangle with more force than necessary, running the rolling pin over it until it was smooth and thin.
“Or maybe we should talk about how I keep wondering if this is what the rest of my life is going to look like—constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Eamon was quiet for a moment, watching me spread the cinnamon-sugar mixture over the dough with methodical precision. “You’re scared.”
“Terrified,” I corrected. “And trying very hard not to think about it because thinking about it makes me want to throw up.”
“That’s normal. Fear keeps you alive in situations like this.”
“Does it?” I started rolling the dough into a spiral that would be cut into individual cinnamon rolls. “Because right now it feels like it’s making me crazy.”
My phone buzzed on the counter, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Eamon reached for it before I could, checking the display.
“It’s Solstice,” he said, handing it to me.
I wiped my hands on my apron before answering. “Hey, Sol.”
“Charles.” Her voice was tight with worry. “He’s here.”
The anxious knot in my stomach pulled tighter. “Who’s here?”
Eamon stepped close to me, and I angled my phone so he could hear her too. “Carlo was just here. At my shop.”
My blood turned to ice water. “What?”
“He came in about ten minutes ago, wanting to thank me for the arrangements. Said they were beautiful, asked about my process, how I put everything together.” Solstice’s voice was getting faster, the way it did when she was stressed.
“But then he started asking when I delivered them, what time I was at the banquet hall. He said he lost a valuable piece of jewelry and was trying to trace who could’ve found it. ”
“What did you tell him?” Eamon asked, his voice sharp.
“I told him the truth—that I set everything up the night before, then stopped by around eight that morning to drop off the bridal bouquet.” She paused, and I could hear the guilt in her voice. “He’ll figure it out, Charles. He’ll find out it was you.”
My throat was too tight to even speak. The room seemed to tilt sideways, and I gripped the edge of the prep counter so hard my knuckles went white.
Cold sweat broke out along my spine, and suddenly, I couldn’t seem to get enough air, each breath coming in short, sharp gasps that made my chest feel like it was caught in a vise.
“We gotta go,” Eamon told her. “He may come here next.”
“Eamon…” she said, a desperate plea in her voice.
“I’ll keep him safe, I promise.”
Eamon ended the call, then turned to me. “We have maybe one minute before he shows up here. I know you’re scared, but I need you to listen carefully.”
I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“When he asks what time you delivered the cake, subtract half an hour from the actual time, like we agreed on.”
I nodded. He’d gone over this with me three times now, ensuring I knew what to say.
“Tell me what you’ll say to him.”
“Nine instead of nine-thirty,” I repeated what he’d made me memorize.
“Good. It won’t hold Carlo off forever, but it might buy us some time. If he thinks you left before his conversation with Chan, you’re not an immediate threat.” Eamon grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “You need to make your lie convincing.”
“I don’t know—”
“You can,” he said firmly. “You’re smart and strong, and you can do this. You got there around nine and you left right after setting up. Remember the details we came up with?”
“Solstice had just gotten back to her shop, and she helped me load the cake into my van. And the nine o’clock news was on the radio. They mentioned measles.”
“Good. Take a deep breath for me, sweetheart.”
Before I could respond, the bell above the front door chimed, and my blood turned to arctic slush. Through the pass-through window between the kitchen and the front of the shop, I could see a familiar figure silhouetted against the morning light.
Carlo Ricotta had just walked into my bakery.
“Showtime,” Eamon murmured. “I’ll be right here, sweetheart. Just act natural.”
I took a shaky breath and walked out to the front counter, forcing what I hoped was a welcoming smile onto my face. “Mr. Ricotta! What a surprise. How are you?”
Up close, Carlo was even more imposing than I remembered. Tall and lean, with dark hair and the kind of expensive suit that probably cost more than I made in a month. But it was his eyes that made my skin crawl—dark and calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey.
“Please, call me Carlo,” he said with a warm smile that didn’t reach those cold eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by so early. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to thank you personally for the wedding cake.”
“Of course not. I’m always happy to hear from satisfied customers.” I was amazed by how normal my voice sounded. “How was the reception?”
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” His smile widened, showing teeth that were too white and too sharp. “That cake was the centerpiece of the evening. Everyone was raving about it. You’re incredibly talented.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
Carlo moved closer to the display case, his movements casual but somehow predatory. “Gia couldn’t stop talking about how professional you were during the setup. She said you were so efficient, in and out without any fuss.”
My mouth went dry.
“I actually have a small favor to ask,” Carlo continued, turning those unsettling dark eyes on me. “I seem to have misplaced something valuable that morning, a family heirloom that means a great deal to me. I’m trying to retrace everyone’s steps to see if anyone might have found it.”
“Oh no,” I said, hoping I sounded genuinely sympathetic. “What did you lose?”
“A cufflink. Gold, with my family crest. I noticed it when the wedding photographer arrived.” He shrugged, the picture of casual disappointment. “I’m asking everyone who was there what time they arrived and left to see who might’ve found it.”
Nine. Left right after setup. Add details.
“I got there around nine,” I said, surprised by how steady my voice was. “Steve—the young man who works there—helped me get the cake set up on the table, and I left almost immediately after.”
“Nine,” Carlo repeated thoughtfully. “And you’re sure about the time?”
I nodded, forcing myself to maintain eye contact even though every instinct was screaming at me to look away.
“Solstice, who did the flowers, had just come back from her setup, and she helped me load the cake into the van. And when I drove to the banquet hall, the nine o’clock morning news came on the radio.
I remember because they reported an outbreak of measles in the city, and I made a mental note to check if I needed a booster for that vaccination. ”
The lie rolled off my tongue with surprising ease, and I silently thanked whatever guardian angel was watching over me for making it sound believable.
“Did you notice anyone else there around that time? Other vendors, family members, anyone who might have been in the area when I lost the cufflink?”
“Not that I can remember. It was still early, so I don’t think anyone else was there yet.”
“How about Steve Porter?”
Steve wouldn’t lie. I wasn’t even sure if he was able to lie, since he always took everything completely literally. So my story had to match his as much as possible. “He helped me bring the cake inside, then left to pick up extra chairs. I didn’t see anyone else.”
Carlo nodded slowly, that predatory smile never wavering.
“Well, I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me. If you happen to remember anything else, or if someone brings you a gold cufflink they found…” He pulled out a business card and slid it across the counter. “Please don’t hesitate to call.”
I took the card with fingers that I prayed weren’t visibly shaking. “Of course. I hope you find it.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said, and something about the way he said it made my blood run cold. “I’m very persistent.”
The bell chimed again as he left, and I stood frozen behind the counter until his figure disappeared down the street. “What’s wrong?” Dani asked, rushing over to me.
“Nothing.” I couldn’t tell her the truth, but I had to give her something. “He creeps me out. Carlo.”
She shuddered. “I know. Same. He’s a snake dressed up like an innocent lamb.”
Eamon nudged my shoulder.
“I’m gonna go back to my cinnamon rolls,” I told Dani, then all but fled to the back.
Only then did my legs give out, and I had to grip the edge of the counter to keep from collapsing.
Eamon appeared instantly, wrapping his arms around me before I could object.
I was pressed against his chest, breathing in his scent of leather and cologne, and for a moment, the terror receded enough for me to think clearly.
“You were perfect,” he murmured into my hair. “Absolutely perfect. I’m so fecking proud of you.”
“He’ll find out. You heard him. He’s persistent. He’s not gonna let this go.”
“I know.” Eamon’s arms tightened around me. “But you bought us time. The half-hour discrepancy might be enough to throw him off, at least temporarily.”
I pulled back to look at him, and the fierce protectiveness in his green eyes made something warm blossom in my chest despite the terror. “What happens when he figures out I lied?”
“He won’t get the chance. I swear to you, Charles. I will not let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you with my life.”
The certainty in his voice should have been comforting, but instead it made me more afraid.
Not for myself—for him. Because looking into those beautiful green eyes, I realized with crystal clarity that I had grown to like him.
A lot. And the thought of him getting hurt because of me was almost worse than the thought of Carlo coming after me.
Almost.