3. Cassie
CASSIE
T hree years later
“No, Aria. We do not lick the display case.”
Sunlight spills through my bakery’s window. I have frosting on my jeans, flour on my cheek, and a tiny tyrant trying to steal a cupcake.
My daughter pauses—one hand already smudged with lemon filling, her face pressed against the glass like a puppy drooling over a treat.
She turns those big storm-blue eyes on me and smiles like the picture of innocence. “I didn’t lick. I breathed.”
“Through your tongue?”
She nods and levels me a glare that screams Mommy doesn’t know a thing in toddler-speak.
I sigh, crouching to wipe the glass. “Okay, Your Majesty. Go wash your hands, and then you can steal one mini cupcake. One.”
“Two,” she negotiates, already skipping toward the back.
“One,” I bellow and shake my head, smiling at her retreating form. She’s three years old and the light of my life. There’s not a single moment of boredom when the little nugget is around.
With no customers in at the moment, I stand behind the counter and get started on kneading the dough for some bread. Aria bounds back with her cute little palms all clean and held up for me to see.
“Mommy. Cupcake.”
“Okay, sweetie.” I sigh and open the display cabinet, picking out her favorite flavor. Chocolate. While I plate it, I see her darting from the corner of my eye for the still-open display.
“Aria Louise Russo,” I call out, without turning. “If you touch that vanilla bean swirl, I swear on your bedtime?—”
Plop. Too late. She took it and dropped it. One more mess for me to clean up. Not that I mind. For her? I’d clean the whole world.
I turn, and she flashes me a toothy grin that’s all baby teeth and mischief. I flash her the mom glare. The one that says: I’ve seen things, kid. Don’t test me before coffee.
She suddenly wipes the smile off her face. God, how I want to laugh. Poor thing. She looks terrified, but someone’s got to play bad cop. It’s just us.
Some days I wonder if I made the right choice. Most days, I know I had no choice at all.
“Come on now,” I tell her. “You’re going to sit at your little chair and table. Eat the one cupcake I give you and then help Mommy like I taught you, okay?”
“Okay,” she stands straighter, always up for helping.
The bell above the bakery door jingles just as I put Aria into her tiny apron and set her up in the corner with her cupcake and “important mixing job,” which currently involves dry oats and serious concentration.
“Good morning, Ruthie,” I call out as my favorite neighborhood gossip breezes in.
Ruthie Patterson, eighty-four and blessed without a filter, totters to the front counter in oversized sunglasses.
“You will not believe what that awful Trudy’s granddaughter did,” she huffs, slamming a folded newspaper down. “Posted photos on the internet. In a bikini. With one of those football boys. And that’s not all!” she declares with a huff, eyeing the treats on sale for the day.
When I say nothing, she looks up at me, gravely offended. “Don’t you want to know what else?”
“What else, Ruthie?” I flash her my best partner-in-crime smile, leaning in like we’re co-conspirators, because I know she won’t rest till she has it out of her system. Honestly? If Oprah called her on live TV, she’d still talk about Trudie.
“She also got a tattoo. On her rear end. Of the devil’s pitchfork. I swear her poor old sweet grandpa’s turnin’ over in his grave.”
I bite back a smile, hand her the usual—one blueberry scone, warmed, and a hot cappuccino. “Scandalous. I’ll alert the church board.”
“She’s nineteen, Cassie. And his arms were huge.”
“Maybe he’s a trainer? That’s good, right? He takes care of himself.”
“She was sitting on him like a saddle.”
I nod. “Well, maybe she’s into horses.”
Ruthie narrows her eyes, and I reach across the counter to squeeze her hand.
“Ruthie, honey. If gossip were a drug, you’d be due for an intervention.”
She humphs, but the corners of her mouth twitch. “You always take the high road.”
“Someone’s gotta.”
Ruthie eyes me over her coffee rim. “You’re too soft, Cassie. That’s why everyone likes you.” Her wrinkled hand pats mine. “But I suppose that’s not a bad thing to be.”
Aria waves from her oat station, that sweet little child and her manners. Ruthie waves back, a little smile breaking her crusty expression before she shuffles to her usual corner table by the window, and the morning falls into its familiar rhythm.
Regulars come and go.
I pipe frosting onto cupcakes for a birthday order.
The sunlight crawls across the floor of the beautiful place I’ve built—a cozy little bakery-café with regular customers and a toddler who loves them all. In this quiet world of mine, I wake up without a hammering heart.
Not having to look over my shoulder or flinch at slamming doors feels like a gift I never want to give back. Some days, the peace feels too good to be true. Like something’s bound to shatter it.
But I have to live with the secret that eats at me every single day.
The door swings open again, and it’s Tina—head-to-toe linen, big-ass sunglasses, blown-out hair, dripping rich girl summer vibes like we’re in the Hamptons. Meanwhile, I’ve got flour in my bra and frosting on my butt, because that’s my glamorous life now.
She dumps herself across the counter like a cat in a sunbeam. “Tell me you have a cherry danish or I’ll collapse in protest.”
“You say that every week, and you’ve never collapsed once.”
“Today might be the day.”
I hand her one without a word. She takes a bite and groans like she’s in a commercial.
“So,” she says, crumbs on her lip, “you coming to the lake house for the annual start of the summer barbeque or what? Aria can build sandcastles, and I can finally make you wear a bikini without hiding behind a towel.”
“Tempting,” I say, pouring her coffee. “But we’ve got a lot going on. Cupcake season.”
“It’s not a harvest, Cass.”
“Easy for you to say. Some of us can’t just drop everything for a party.”
“Oh please, it’s one day. What’s the worst that could happen?”
My hand pauses on the coffee pot. You’d be surprised what can happen in one day.
“I just like keeping things predictable these days.”
“Since when are you Miss Predictable? You used to be up for anything before you married that asshole.”
The mention of Gino makes my stomach clench. “That’s exactly why I like predictable now.”
“I still can’t believe what he put you through. Thank God you got out when you did.”
I focus on wiping down the counter, anywhere but meeting her eyes. “Yeah, well. Some lessons you only need to learn once.”
“Has he tried to contact you since the divorce was finalized?”
“A few times.” More than a few. “But his family told him to cut ties clean. They’re done with the drama, too.”
“Good. Aria doesn’t need that kind of toxicity in her life.”
If only Tina knew the whole truth about Aria’s life.
“Come on, Cass. It’s just one day. Don’t be a party pooper.”
For a split second, I’m tempted. Wouldn’t it be wicked fun? Barbecue, champagne, pretending my life’s not one giant game of survival? Just for a day. Damn Tina and her rich-girl nonsense—where every weekend’s an adventure and I’m over here calculating grocery budgets like it’s the damn Olympics.
“I’m not being a party pooper. I’ve got work!” I fire back, remembering I’m not Tina. I can’t just whisk off on a weekday to welcome in summer.
“So, hire someone,” she tosses back, flippant as hell. Like, payroll’s a suggestion and not something I stress about every damn month.
“Tina—” I start, but she’s already leaning over the counter, planting a kiss on Aria’s head.
“Aria, baby, wanna see a lake sometime?”
“Lake, lake, lake!” Aria claps her hands like she just got offered Disneyland and a puppy.
Tina shoots me a smug look as she slides back onto her stool, cocking an eyebrow like she’s already won.
“Let the kid have some fun.”
I groan, rolling my eyes. “Fine. It might be good for Aria…”
“Amazing!” Tina grins—bright, smug, and way too pretty for my willpower. That grin? Full Gigi Hadid with audacity baked right in.
My phone buzzes on the counter. Unknown number. I glance at it and let it go to voicemail.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Tina asks, Danish halfway to her mouth.
“Probably spam.”
“What if it’s important? Could be a customer.”
“Important calls come from numbers I recognize.” I turn the phone face down. “Trust me on this one.”
“You’re so paranoid about phone calls now. Remember when you used to answer everything thinking it might be an adventure?”
“That was before I learned some adventures aren’t worth having.” Before I learned that unknown numbers usually meant Gino’s slurred threats at 2 AM.
“I get it. After what you went through with him...”
“Let’s not talk about him, okay?” The subject of Gino always makes me anxious. “Some things are better left buried.”
“Fair enough. But you know if he ever shows up here?—”
“He won’t,” I say it with more confidence than I feel. “I’m not sure he even knows where I live.”
“Good. Keep it that way.” Tina nods to herself, then glances at Aria. “You know what’s crazy? Sometimes I look at that little angel and wonder what Gino was thinking, walking away from his own kid.”
My blood turns to ice. “He made his choice.”
“I mean, I get that you two had a toxic marriage, but she’s his daughter. How do you just... abandon that?”
“Some people aren’t cut out to be parents.” The words taste like ash. “Besides, we’re better off without him.”
“Still. Look at those eyes. She’s got the most unusual blue eyes. Nothing like yours or—” Tina pauses, tilting her head. “Actually, they kind of remind me of someone, but I can’t place it.”
My heart stops.
“Kids’ eyes change as they get older,” I blurt. “They’ll probably turn brown like mine eventually.”
“Maybe. But there’s something so familiar about them...”
I busy myself wiping down already clean surfaces, desperate to change the subject. “Kids look like all sorts of people when they’re little. People say she looks like the mailman sometimes.”
Tina laughs, thankfully distracted. “Poor kid. Let’s hope she gets your looks, not his.”
She takes another bite of her Danish and casually says, “By the way…” She pauses, wipes powdered sugar from her lip. “…my brother’s back.”
Everything in me stills.
My hand freezes mid-pour.
The coffee mug nearly slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, setting the cup down before Tina could notice the way my hands are shaking.
He’s back. Dante’s back.
After three years of nothing. Three years of wondering where he went, what he’s doing, if he ever thinks about that night. Three years of telling myself I’m better off without him.
Three years of lying to myself.
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. Heat floods my body—the same heat I felt that night in the parking lot when he pressed me against my car and made me forget my own name.
Get it together, Cassie. You can’t react like this. Tina will know something’s wrong.
I don’t look up. I can’t.
My voice comes out thin. “Since when?”
“Last week. He’s staying for a while.” She grins. “Wild, right?”
Wild doesn’t begin to cover it.
I force myself to meet her eyes, to act like the mention of her brother’s name doesn’t make every cell in my body come alive with want and terror and a desperate longing I’ve been trying to bury for three years.
“He, um...” I clear my throat, hoping my voice sounds normal. “He’s been gone a long time.”
Understatement of the century.
“Yeah, family business kept him overseas. But he’s back now.” Tina’s eyes light up with excitement. “You should see him, Cass. He’s even more gorgeous than before, if that’s possible. All that time away made him... I don’t know, more intense? More dangerous looking? But in a hot way for sure.”
More dangerous looking. Jesus Christ.
My knees nearly buckle. I grip the counter to steady myself, images flashing through my mind that I’ve spent years trying to forget. Dante’s hands on my body. His mouth on my skin. The way he looked at me like I was something precious right before he made me come apart on the hood of my car.
Stop it. Stop thinking about that night. Stop thinking about how good it felt to be wanted like that. To be touched like that.
Stop thinking about him.
But I can’t. God help me, I can’t.
“That’s... that’s great for you guys,” I manage.
“You okay?” Tina asks. “You look a little pale.”
Pale? I feel like I’m on fire.
“Just tired. Long morning.”
“Maybe seeing Dante will perk you up,” she says with a wicked grin. “I seem to remember you had quite the crush on him back in the day.”
Crush. If only she knew.
I force a laugh that sounds hollow even to my ears. “That was a long time ago, Tina. I was a different person then.”
“People don’t change that much,” she says, studying my face with those sharp Romano eyes. “And neither do attractions.”
Oh God. She knows. She has to know something.
Dante Romano is a storm I’ve been bracing to face since the moment I drove away.