Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WILLOW
T he cold morning air bites as Brock pulls into the bakery parking lot at 4 a.m., his truck rumbling softly before shutting off. Frankie is curled up in my lap, snoring away like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I can’t say the same for myself, though.
Last night, I felt things I’ve never felt before. Not just the physical stuff—though that was, well, wow —but the way Brock made me feel emotionally. Seen. Wanted. Protected.
He gets out of the truck and jogs around to my side, opening the door for me like it’s second nature. His hand is warm and solid on my waist as he helps me down, and I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face.
“You sure you don’t want me to hang out here for a bit?” he asks, his voice low and rough with early morning grogginess.
I shake my head, tucking Frankie’s leash into my coat pocket. “I’ll be fine. Frankie will keep me company.”
His dark eyes search mine for a second before he nods, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Text me if you need anything.”
“I will,” I promise, my fingers brushing his hand briefly before I step back.
He waits until I’m inside and the door is locked behind me before heading out. Watching his taillights disappear down Main Street, I feel a small pang of longing. It’s like I already miss him, even though I’ll see him later.
Inside, the bakery feels like a warm hug. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla is familiar, comforting, and it helps settle my nerves from the night before.
I set Frankie down, and he immediately begins his inspection of the place, sniffing around like he hasn’t been here a hundred times before. “Come on, Frankie,” I call, shaking my head. “Let’s get to work.”
By the time the first customers arrive, I’m in the groove—mixing, frosting, and plating like the stress of the last 24 hours never happened. But then my phone buzzes on the counter, drawing my attention.
It’s a text from Brock.
Brock: Liam’s done with the car. He’ll drop it off this afternoon.
A warm smile spreads across my face. He didn’t just handle the tires—he made sure the car was fixed and brought back to me.
Me: Thank you. You didn’t have to do all that.
Brock: Baby, I’m your man. Of course I did.
I bite my lip to keep from grinning too widely as a few regulars come through the door. I can practically hear his voice when I read the words, and it sends a warm flutter through my chest.
By ten, the first wave of customers has come and gone, and I’m in the kitchen frosting cupcakes when the bell jingles again.
“Hey, baker girl,” June calls out, strolling in like she owns the place. She’s holding two coffees, her athleisure outfit perfectly put together as always.
I chuckle, setting down the piping bag. “Morning, coffee fairy.”
She places one of the cups on the counter in front of me. “Figured you needed this. You’ve got that ‘I didn’t sleep much’ glow going on.”
“Subtle,” I mutter, taking a sip, but I can’t help the little smile tugging at my lips.
June narrows her eyes, leaning against the counter. “Alright, spill. You’ve got that look. What happened?”
I hesitate, but the memory of last night brings a warm flush to my cheeks. “It’s Brock,” I admit, glancing around to make sure no one is nearby.
“Oh, this is going to be good,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “Details. All of them.”
I set the coffee down, trying not to fidget. “Last night was… amazing. I mean, we’ve been close before, but this—” I pause, feeling my face heat. “We, you know… “
“Had sexy time?” June offers.
I smile, my cheeks burning, “It wasn’t just the physical part, though that was—”
“Mind-blowing?” she interrupts with a smirk.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, but it was more than that. It felt… right. Like he cares about me, all of me. I’ve never had that before.”
June’s smirk softens into something more genuine. “Finally.”
“It’s not just that, though,” I say, sighing. “He’s been so good to me with everything going on—taking care of my car, making sure I’m safe. I’ve never had someone do so much for me without expecting something in return.”
She nods, her expression turning serious. “That’s how it’s supposed to be, Willow. You deserve this. You deserve him.”
I take a steadying breath, my chest tightening slightly. “Liam’s dropping my car off this afternoon.”
June’s brow furrows slightly. “You’re still sure it was random, right? That no one’s has a grudge against you?”
I hesitate again, the image of Tessa’s overly sweet smile flashing in my mind before I shake my head. “No. I mean, no one comes to mind.”
June gives me a long look, like she doesn’t quite believe me, but she lets it slide. “Okay. Just promise me this—if anything else happens, you’ll tell Brock. Don’t try to deal with it on your own.”
I nod, her words sitting heavier than they should. “I promise.”
She doesn’t push further, but her concerned expression lingers, and for a moment, I wonder if she sees the worry I’m trying to hide.
The morning rush picks up again, pulling me into the familiar rhythm of orders, frosting, and coffee. But even as the hours pass, June’s words stick with me, and so do Brock’s.
Baby, I’m your man.
Whoever slashed my tires might have been trying to scare me, but they didn’t account for one thing, Brock. And Brock Steele doesn’t just protect the things he cares about—he fights for them.
The day feels like it stretches on forever, the usual bustle of the bakery doing little to distract me from the weight pressing on my chest. By the time I finally lock up for the night, I feel drained.
But then I step outside, and there it is—my baby blue Mini Cooper, sitting in the lot looking as good as new. Liam must’ve dropped it off earlier, and just seeing it makes a wave of relief wash over me.
I send a quick text to Brock.
Me: Thanks for making sure Liam brought my car back. It looks amazing. I feel better already.
Brock: Good. You deserve to feel safe. Let me know when you’re home.
I smile at the screen, tucking my phone into the cup holder as I climb into the driver’s seat. Frankie hops into the passenger seat, wagging his little tail, and I ruffle his ears before starting the car.
Me: I just need to grab a few things from the house. I should be there in about thirty minutes.
Brock: I’ve missed you all fucking day. I can’t wait to see you!
How did I get so lucky? I never expected Brock, or anyone at all, to come into my life. But he did and he’s been amazing from the get go. Never letting me feel like I was less than the most important thing to him. I think I’m falling for him. No, I’ve fallen, hard.
The street outside my house is dark and quiet as I pull into the driveway. I feel the usual comfort of coming home... until I see the front door.
It’s open.
My stomach drops, my hands freezing on the steering wheel. The door isn’t just unlocked—it’s ajar, swaying slightly in the breeze.
“Stay here, Frankie,” I say softly, my voice trembling as I grab my phone.
He whines but settles into his seat as I step out, my heart pounding in my chest.
I hit 911, the line ringing in my ear as I creep closer to the house, my hand shaking.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hi,” I say, my voice unsteady. “I think someone broke into my house.”
“Are you inside?”
“No,” I whisper, standing just outside the open door. “I’m still outside.”
“Is there anyone still in the house?”
“I... I don’t think so.”
“Stay outside, ma’am,” the operator says firmly. “Officers are on their way. Can you see anything unusual from where you are?”
I hesitate, the urge to know pulling me forward despite the pit in my stomach. I push the door open wider, stepping inside as I glance around.
“Ma’am, I need you to stay outside,” the operator says again.
“I—I just need to see...” My voice trails off as I step into the living room.
My couch has been slashed, the cushions ripped apart with jagged tears. The coffee table is overturned, my favorite vase shattered on the floor. The shelves, usually lined with knickknacks I’ve collected over the years, are bare—most of the items lie broken, scattered across the hardwood.
I feel like I can’t breathe.
“Ma’am?” the operator asks.
“They... they trashed the place,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“Is there anyone else there?”
I take another shaky step forward, my eyes darting to the shadows in the corners of the room. “No, I don’t think so. It’s just... just me.”
The sound of sirens in the distance cuts through the silence, and I exhale shakily, backing toward the door.
“Officers are almost there,” the operator says. “I need you to step outside and wait for them.”
I nod, even though they can’t see me, and stumble out onto the porch, my breath coming in short bursts.
Frankie barks from the car, and the sight of him, safe and sound, brings a small sense of relief.
The red and blue lights flash against the trees, cutting through the darkness as two patrol cars pull up to the curb. The sight makes my stomach tighten all over again, and I wrap my arms around myself as I step off the porch.
An officer, tall and broad-shouldered with a no-nonsense expression, approaches me, his badge catching the porch light. Another, younger and carrying a notepad, lingers behind him, scanning the area.
“I’m Officer Harris,” the older one says, his voice calm but firm. He gestures toward the younger man. “This is Officer Denton. Are you the one who called this in?”
I nod quickly. “Yes. I—I came home to grab a few things, and the door was open. When I went inside, I saw...” I gesture vaguely toward the house, swallowing hard. “It’s trashed.”
Harris nods, exchanging a glance with Denton. “We’ll take a look. Did you see anyone leaving, or anything suspicious before you got here?”
“No, I didn’t see anything,” I say, my voice shaking.
“And you haven’t touched anything inside?” Harris asks.
“I... I walked in,” I admit, guilt creeping in. “But I didn’t touch anything. I just—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s step back while we check it out.”
Denton gives me a small nod before heading toward the house, flashlight in hand. Harris stays with me, his steady presence keeping me anchored as I fidget with Frankie’s leash.
“Do you live alone?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, glancing toward the car where Frankie sits quietly in the passenger seat. “Just me and my dog.”
“Do you know anyone who would want to do this? Any recent arguments, threats, anything out of the ordinary?”
I shake my head, though the image of Tessa flashes in my mind. “No. I can’t think of anyone.”
Harris watches me closely, his sharp eyes searching my face. He doesn’t look fully convinced but doesn’t push. Before he can say more, Denton returns from the house.
“It’s clear,” Denton says, his tone brisk. “No one’s inside.”
Harris nods, turning back to me. “Alright, ma’am. We’ll need to take a statement. Can you tell us exactly what happened?”
I nod, hugging myself as I recount everything—finding the door open, calling 911, walking in, and seeing the damage.
As I talk, Denton snaps photos of the house while Harris listens intently, jotting down notes and occasionally asking questions.
“Do you have any security cameras?” Harris asks.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“What about valuables? Is anything missing?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, glancing toward the house. “I haven’t looked closely.”
“We’ll do a walkthrough with you in a minute,” Harris says. “But based on what we’ve seen so far, it looks more like vandalism than burglary.”
The word vandalism sits uneasily in my chest, heavy and ominous. Someone wanted to send a message.
The process feels like it takes forever. By the time they finish taking photos, asking questions, and walking me through the damage, the reality of what’s happened starts to sink in.
I’ve been violated. Someone came into my home, ripped it apart, and left me to pick up the pieces.
And in all the chaos, I completely forgot to call Brock.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, and I grab my phone, swiping to his number.
Before I can press “call,” headlights sweep across the driveway, and my heart lurches.
It’s Brock.
He gets out of his truck, his tall frame moving quickly toward me, his face a mix of worry and anger.
“Willow,” he says, his voice low but sharp. “What the hell is going on? Why didn’t you call me?”
“I—I forgot,” I stammer, guilt flooding through me.
“You forgot?” he repeats, his dark eyes scanning me like he’s making sure I’m okay. “Jesus, Willow. I’ve been texting you for the last hour.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice breaking. “I just... everything happened so fast.”