7. Cassie
CASSIE
T hree AM and sleep’s flipping me the bird. I’m lying in bed like an insomniac squirrel—heart racing, palms sweaty, brain running laps.
When trying to sleep doesn’t work, I toss. Turn. Pace my bedroom until the floorboards creak their protest. I sit on the edge of the bed, head in my hands, heart racing so fast it’s like I ran a marathon barefoot over hot coals.
It doesn’t stop.
The look in Dante’s eyes plays on repeat like a bad pop song. The way that stormy gaze of his went all soft the second he looked at Aria. That stupid, crooked smile cracking his face when my daughter beamed up at him like they were best friends from another life.
I close my eyes.
It was supposed to be harmless. He was supposed to watch her for just five minutes while I figured out a way to dodge Tina’s ambush. That’s all.
God, what a mess. What a stupid, predictable mess!
The party had been torture enough. Tina dragged me around like a prized poodle, introducing me to men with names like Chase and Dick the Third and whatever the hell rich people name their kids.
And then I’d lost track of time.
Five minutes dragged into thirty, and even an ice plunge couldn’t have prepared me for what I found when I went looking for Aria at the lake house: Dante and her giggling like they’re old friends in the kitchen, eating cake.
When the hell did my life turn into Matilda? When I steered Aria away, Dante looked at me like I was Miss Trunchbull.
My heart keeps on drumming a warning beat: he knows, he knows, he knows.
Maybe he doesn’t.
But what if he’s done the math? What if he shows up at my door tomorrow with questions I can’t afford to answer?
Oh God.
My brain won’t stop replaying it, twisting it into a thousand what-ifs.
He doesn’t know. He can’t know.
Yes, he looked at her. Even spent some time having fun. But men don’t pay attention to details. They see blue eyes and curly hair and move on. Right?
Fuck me, who am I kidding?
I spend the whole damn night spiraling—my palms clammy, heart in overdrive, brain chasing itself in frantic circles until morning dragged its sorry ass over the horizon.
By seven AM, I’m already in the kitchen, slamming pots around with all the grace of a raccoon in a dumpster.
“Mommy,” Aria calls softly from the hallway, rubbing sleep from her eyes, hair sticking up like a baby bird. She climbs onto a chair, watching me cook.
“Morning, nugget.” I force cheer into my voice, ignoring the exhaustion scraping at my edges.
I flip a pancake too hard. It lands half off the pan, batter splattering across the stovetop.
Fantastic.
“Oops. Mommy’s a little clumsy this morning.”
“Why?” Aria asks.
“Just tired, baby.” I toss the ruined pancake, pour more batter. Focus, Cassie. Don’t burn the house down.
“From the party?”
“Something like that.”
“I liked the party. The tall man gave me cake.”
I knew that already. “Did he?”
“Uh-huh. He likes chocolate too and said I’m a grown-up, so I can have some more.”
Of course, he did. God forbid Dante Romano not be charming, even to our three-year-old.
No.
Not ours.
Mine.
I slide a lopsided pancake onto her plate, drown it in syrup the way she likes. “Eat up, nugget. We’ve got a busy day.”
She digs in and all is quiet on that front until she asks it—the loaded grenade toddler curiosity has unlimited access to.
“Where is my daddy? Everyone at daycare has a daddy. Will mine come to visit soon?”
The spatula slips. Butter hisses in the pan. My throat closes like someone took a steel clamp to it.
I grip the counter. Smile like my world isn’t detonating and switch off the gas. “Look at the time!” I deflect the best I know how. I hate lying to her. “We’re going to be late! Better hurry and finish those pancakes, nugget.”
She frowns, confused, but doesn’t argue. She’s going to ask again. And next time, I’d better have an answer ready that doesn’t crack me in two. I just need to decide who to tell her about—Gino or Dante.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re at Honey & Hearth. The morning rush hasn’t started yet, giving me time to prepare. I set Aria up at her usual spot with some crayons and paper and head to the kitchen.
And that’s when the day really goes to shit.
The first batch of muffins collapses in the center, deflated as my soul. The next batch burns because I’m too busy overthinking last night to set a timer.
The butter order? Forgot to place it. Now I need to get this next batch just right because I’m out of fucking butter.
I'd better call my supplier to see if he’ll deliver.
My to-do list laughs at me from the counter.
By noon, I’m ready to cry into the frosting bags.
The door jingles. Tina struts in like we’re on the Vegas strip, heels that’ll take her down faster than tequila shots if she hits the wrong tile, giant sunglasses, the works.
“Yesterday was wild,” she says, peeling off her jacket. “Some finance bro practically begged for your number.”
“Hard pass.” I hand her a coffee.
“Why? He’s cute, single, loaded.” She counts off on her fingers. “And not a psycho like Gino.”
“Low bar, Tina.” I roll my eyes. “Besides, I don’t have time to date. I’ve got Aria, the bakery?—”
“Oh, come on, Cass. You need to get laid—scratch that—you need a vacation with a hot stranger with abs. I’ll watch Aria for you, I swear…”
Her words are background noise to the mental slideshow I can’t turn off: Dante on repeat.
Driving away from him while my muscles still contracted from the pleasure he’s given me, and his juices leaked down my thighs.
How, two months later, I’d stared at a positive pregnancy test with trembling hands.
How I’d let Gino believe the baby was his, because Dante was gone, and Gino was there, yelling at me about the divorce papers we were about to sign, and I was scared.
“Hello, bitch? Am I dead or something?”
“What? Sorry.” I shake my head, dragging myself back to Earth, even though Earth kind of sucks right now.
Tina narrows her eyes. “Don’t ‘sorry’ me. You’re zoning out like you’re thinking about some guy or something. Which one was it? Drake? Butch?”
She’s not wrong. My anxiety is basically at DEFCON one, though Tina’s not one to notice. That girl walks around with blinkers sometimes.
“None.” I roll my eyes. “With names like that, I’d rather date women.”
“Oooh.” She leans forward at the counter, visibly excited. “You serious?”
“I’m joking, girl. What the hell’s wrong with you?” I snort and chuck a rag over at her.
“We should go swimming later,” she continues. “Lake’s finally warm enough. Aria’ll love it. And you need some Vitamin D along with a hot lifeguard with a great D of his own to distract you.”
I snort, half-laughing, half-imploding inside.
Distractions? Sweetheart, I’ve already got one in mind.
The kind of distraction that wrecks lives, ruins car paint, and kisses like there’s no tomorrow. The kind of man who’s flexible where to fuck—and makes the woman forget about common decency. Who growls and grunts like he’s in agony and pleasure at the same time.
I grip the countertop a little tighter. My body’s not dumb—it remembers. Every word that came out of Dante Romano’s mouth. The way his hands slid under my shirt like he had every right. The ache, the stretch, the downright sinful way he filled me up and made me cum.
“Cass? You’re doing that thing again,” Tina interrupts, snapping her fingers like I’m hypnotized. Which… fair.
I shake myself out of it, throat dry, thighs still clenched tighter than a nun’s prayer circle.
“Sorry, the lake’s nice,” I croak, deflecting. “We should go.”
Because hell, maybe icy water will cool me off after the mess Dante’s put back in my head.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of customers and baking and trying not to spiral every time the door opens, half-expecting to see Dante walking in. By closing time, I’m deadbeat tired.
“Ready to go home, nugget?” I ask Aria.
“Can we have macaroni for dinner?”
“Whatever you want, baby.”
We lock up, step into the warm, late-evening air.
Aria skips beside me, chattering about how she wants to be a baker like me when she grows up.
I groan dramatically, tossing my head back like she just announced plans to join a cult. “Baby, shoot higher. Doctor, astronaut, Taylor Swift’s backup dancer— anything but waking up every day to burn muffins for a living.”
“But I like the bakery.” She giggles.
I smile and hold her hand tighter.
We’re across the street from home, and that’s when I see it.
Black car. Tinted windows. No plates.
No fucking plates. In a town like Cedar Falls?
It’s crawling past our house, slow as a goddamn threat.
What the hell? Is someone watching us?
Every cell in my body locks up. My pulse hits panic speed.
My steps falter. Goosebumps rise on my arms. I quickly pull Aria back into the shadows. I try to take a look, but can’t see who it might be inside.
“Mommy, too tight,” she complains, trying to wiggle free.
“Sorry, baby,” I whisper, loosening my hold but not letting go.
The car idles… then drives past. I don’t breathe until the taillights vanish. But my heart’s still jackhammering when we reach our porch, adrenaline clawing at my ribs.
Was it Gino? One of his family’s goons? They haven’t bothered us for years. Why start now?
It’s then that I notice our mailbox has an envelope jutting out.
I open the box, hands trembling.
There’s a folded note inside with five words: You can’t hide forever.
My blood turns to ice. The world tilts again. And I know… I’ve been found.
I rush us inside, lock the door, and triple-check the windows.
It looks like sleep’s off the table tonight, too.