17
C lock ticking toward five, the sun dies a slow death in the sky as early evening shadows creep over the snowy street. First day at the new—well, old—job complete.
Today felt like I was stuck in a freakishly warped version of rewind to the past. Looking for any remnants of that spark between Davis and me, and that sisterly love between me and Fallon. Not to mention, no one in town scowled when I walked by.
My back aches, my feet scream, but I survived.
I can do one day.
On a satisfied sigh, I toss my dusty cloth down and cast my gaze over the quiet store. I’ve stayed productive—wiping shelves that haven’t seen a rag since I left, changing Fallon’s TV setting to something less murdery, and reorganizing the coolers by type.
The Avett Brothers’ “No Hard Feelings” blares from inside the kitchen, where Fallon’s sequestered herself for the last two hours. I stare at the saloon-style door, almost dizzy from the knowledge of what’s behind it. My sister. An oven. Dirty counters. Rolling pins.
But I can’t be a coward my entire life, so I finally push my way through and enter.
The sight that greets me has me smiling. At the counter, dipped low beside stacks of clean dishes, Fallon’s putting on burgundy lipstick using a toaster as a mirror. It softens her, makes her look less vengeful.
“Hot date?” I tease.
She straightens up without answering, only the slow flush of pink over her cheeks gives her away. It always was her damn tell. She can lie all she wants, but those cheeks hold all her secrets.
I wish we could go back. Wish we’d just talk and talk without me having to think of what to say. Wish she felt more like a sister than a stranger. Wish it didn’t make me so sad because I know the void between us is my fault.
Sweat dots my brow, but I move deeper into the kitchen.
Fallon’s response to my nearness is to slide a dirty rag over the countertop and bang on the oven with the toe of her boot. The oven door slips, crooked on its hinges.
I frown. “This still isn’t fixed?”
Fallon snorts. “Oh, we fixed it all right. ‘Bout four years ago.”
“Well, we should fix it again,” I tell her. “I saw the bread you were serving on those sandwiches.” I give her a careful look. “It was burned.”
Her nostrils flare. “Sorry, Chef . I’ll get on that right after I take dad to chemo tomorrow.”
“I can do it,” I offer.
She spends the next minute glaring at me, then says, “No.”
A churning sensation twists my stomach to knots. Because, sure, I’m the one who’s stayed away all these years. I’ve earned her hurt. “I don’t want to be a problem, Fallon. All I want to do is help if you’ll let me.”
“You want to know what my problem is? It’s you. You come back to town and everyone thinks you’re the golden girl all over again.” A toss of that caramel hair. “Must be pretty nice for you. Spin your story.”
“Are you kidding me?” My laugh is dry. “They all see me as a loser. You know how this town is.” I glance at the oven and scowl. “You get out alive, you get success, no one cares. In the end, all you are is a traitor.”
“But you got out, didn’t you? And that’s what counts.
It’s what’s always counted. Ever since we were kids, you always got what you wanted.
You got mom longer than I did. You got into school.
Hell, you even got Dad’s approval.” She scrubs furiously at an invisible spot on the counter, then looks up at me.
“Even after all this, he’s worried you’re in trouble, and still thinks you can do no wrong. ”
I flinch at the unexpected verbal barb. “I get it. I get that you’re hurt.”
Fallon lets out a harsh breath. “I’m not hurt. I’m fucking pissed.”
I take a step forward.
If she wants to fight, I’ll let her get out her frustrations. I’ll take her anger, even if it hurts. Whatever it takes to get us there.
“Tell me a secret, Fallon.”
At the mention of our game, Fallon sets the rag down. Her shoulders soften. It’s been ages since we’ve played it, but even I don’t miss the flicker of nostalgia in her hazel eyes.
I wait with bated breath. Hoping.
Then her shoulders reset. Cold, rigid stones. “You don’t deserve my secrets,” she says, starting for the door. “Not anymore.”
Her words slap and I absorb the blow, resting a palm on the cool countertop. I’m no stranger to my little sister’s stormy moods, but me being on the receiving end is rare. I was her backup. Her protector. Not her target.
“What do you want from me? I’m not this town’s sweetheart anymore. I left. That’s your job now.”
“Must be nice to have the option to leave.”
“Oh, fuck off, Fallon. You can’t put the blame on me. You always had a choice to leave.”
“ Had . I had a choice. Now, I have the store. I have Dad. There’s no other option for me except to stay. Somebody’s got to take care of him. Things’ll work out for you. They always do.”
“You should have called me.”
She snorts, a bitter dismissive sound. “And say what? You can barely take care of yourself.”
“You know,” I sigh, feeling resigned and sad. “I’m trying, Fallon.” I gesture at my stomach. “You probably think I can’t raise a kitten, but I’m trying here.” My voice shakes. “It’s not easy coming back home.”
“If it’s not easy, if you can’t hack it here, if you’re too good for it, why don’t you go back to your perfect bakery?”
It’s an atom bomb hit. Any calm I’ve held on to melts down.
“I don’t have a bakery,” I shout, and Fallon freezes.
“Not anymore. It burned down, remember? It all burned down. I know I lied about my life the last two years. I lied about every fucking thing. I told you and Dad that I was okay, but I wasn’t.
I was never okay. I was missing you and feeling like a fucking failure on a daily basis if that makes you feel any better.
” A tear tracks its way down my cheek. “I failed, Fallon. And I don’t fail. ”
Fallon takes a step forward, face twisted into something almost unrecognizable.
A wracking breath rocks my chest. “So, no. I am very far from being fucking perfect.”
“Dakota…”
As I shake my head, a glint from the street catches my eye. A reflection bounces off the window. A man strolls down Main Street, hands in his pockets.
Tall. Thin. Longish blond hair, a crisp, tailored shirt. That sly fox-like face.
Aiden.
A cold sweat breaks out over my body. Pain flares in my bad arm, running the length of my cast like muscle memory.
I will fuck with you, Dakota. I will fuck with your family. I will fuck with your life.
I hear him clear as day. A familiar, brutal echo reminding me I’m never free. Maybe I never will be.
Terror trails its thin fingers up my spine. My heart pounds furiously. It feels like everything is over. Like I can’t breathe. Like my chest is going to explode.
“Koty?” Fallon says, her voice softer. Smaller,frightened, far off and away.
It’s him. He’s here.
My vision tunnels, and my knees give out so sharply the impact causes me to bite my tongue. Warm blood fills my mouth. On a cry, I sink to the ground, wrapping my arms around my legs and burying my face in my knees as much as my belly will allow.
“Dakota?” Fallon’s hand wraps around my shoulder. She’s so close she could climb into my lap. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t breathe,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut and gripping my dog tag like a life preserver. Over and over again, I jam the panic button. “Davis. I need Davis.”
The rush of boots across linoleum. The jingle of the bell above the door.
Silence. Torturous silence because I can’t be sure Aiden isn’t on the other side of that door.
Then, “Dakota.”
I nearly weep in relief.
That voice. Smooth. Safe. As rich and as deep as an aged whiskey. When I raise my head, I find Davis’s warm brown eyes on mine, concern etched all over his face.
On his knees in front of me, he settles a firm hand on my wrist. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“No.” I tip my head back and blink my wet eyes. “No.”
His gaze moves to my stomach, and he spends a long time looking at me before asking, “Is the baby okay?”
My breath trembles. “Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I saw him,” I whisper.
“Who?”
A moan slips from my mouth. “ Him .”
Davis whips his head to Fallon, who shrugs.
Storm clouds gather in my chest. “You have to believe me.”
“I do, Cupcake.” His voice is soft and free of doubt, unlike the cops who told me there was nothing they could do. I shudder out a relieved sob. This man. I may hate him for not kissing me, but I love him to death for believing me.
Despite his calm voice, tension breaks in his face. A lethal kind of focus. Davis shifts, his dark gaze sweeping across the store. “Lock the door, Fallon, and stay inside.”
And that’s when I start shaking. Shaking like I’ve fallen into the coldest part of a lake in winter. Even with my cheeks flushed hot, even with a sweater, I’m freezing.
“Dakota.” His voice is so low, but I can hear the desperate edge to it.
“What’s wrong with her?” Fallon asks in a small voice. She’s frozen against the counter, hands clutched to her chest.
“Panic attack.” Davis scoots closer, his eyes still holding mine. “But we got this, don’t we, Cupcake?”
I try to wrap my arms around myself to warm the chill, but Davis takes over that duty. His big frame settles beside me and he cocoons me in his arms. Comfort. Home. His chest rises and falls and his skin is so hot, but it’s still not enough to take away the tremor in my bones.
“Breathe, Dakota,” Davis says softly. “You’re safe. Just breathe.”
I’m unraveling in front of him, but he has me.
Davis is made for this. His eye contact, his body language, everything. He is a safe space that is made for me .
“If you could bake right now, what would you make?”
“What?” Caught off guard by the question, I blink.
His big thumb traces gentle circles over my wrist. “What would Dakota McGraw, top pastry chef in the nation, bake?”
My teeth chatter. “I can’t bake.”
“Pretend you can,” he orders. His fingers push a lock of hair from my face. “Pretend you’re back in Paris. You finished your shift and now you’re texting me at some ungodly hour about the berries you found at the farmer’s market.”
I close my eyes at the rumble of his voice.
Panic ebbs, and just like that, the recipe begins in my mind.
The sweetest parts of a strawberry. Ephemeral and delicate batter turned to shortcake sponge.
Fresh-cut mint and cream whipped to the highest peaks.
A feeling of peace blooms in my chest, exhaling that broken woman I’ve become.
“Shortcake,” I say, breathless. I turn my head, meet those chocolate-brown eyes. “Shortcake with strawberries and mint.”
He grins. “Shortcake, huh? Guess we better get you in the kitchen.”
A small smile. “Guess so.”
“What else?”
“Hot cocoa.” My mind floats down from the ledge. “I’m cold.”
“We’ll get you warm.” He cups my cheek, stares down into my eyes. “Hold on to me. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Safe.
Davis scoops me in his arms and stands. I cling to his rugged body like for once in a long time, I have a home.