Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Marlon’s emotions were a ball of writhing snakes lodged halfway down his throat. He drove away from the bakery too fast, jerking onto the main road to a chorus of honks.
She was leaving him. Like his mother had. Like his grandparents had. Like Leo had.
He’d told her things no one else knew, and she’d thrown it back in his face. How could he build a life with someone who wasn’t honest? She was hiding something from him, some problem she wouldn’t share. It was delusional to think he could build a life with someone who didn’t even trust him to carry her burdens. He’d practically begged to help her, and she’d thrown it in his face.
He drove away from the traffic of downtown, away from the Winter Festival and all its happiness. On the freeway out of town, he watched the trees rush by as he gripped his steering wheel, letting the night take him where it would. After half an hour of aimless driving, his emotions running riot, Marlon pulled up outside the Elite Security offices, his face grim. He was worn out.
Elton was in his command center. The tech genius was tapping away on his keyboards and liaising with police on the phone. He nodded to Marlon and pulled up the security footage from The Sweetest Thing on one of the spare screens.
Marlon nearly walked away. He didn’t owe Camilla anything, least of all his time and expertise. She wanted to move out—wanted to leave him—why should he try to figure out who was breaking into her place?
But his car had brought him to the building, and his feet had carried him to this room. He sat down in front of the spare monitor and pressed the play button.
By the twentieth viewing of the break-in, Marlon was no closer to figuring out the perpetrator’s identity. Something niggled at his memory. Had he seen this guy in passing somewhere? But—where? He watched the video again. Again. Again. Was that a shadow or a piercing on his face? Brown hair or dark blond?
Pushing away from the desk, he brewed a fresh pot of coffee, then sat down at the desk once more. This time, he started running through video footage of the bakery’s front door from the start of the footage they’d collected, looking for anyone who matched the size and build of the man who had broken in.
Every time Camilla appeared on the screen, his stomach gave a lurch. He wanted to throw up. A dozen times, he reached for the power button to shut the computer down, but his hand stilled before he did it.
Someone had tried to hurt her business—hurt her . He was full of anger and hurt and betrayal, but the thought of Camilla being unsafe while she worked through the night…
That was worse than knowing she’d be moving out by the end of the weekend.
Maybe he could treat this as a job. Wasn’t that what he liked about working in this industry? He could take on jobs, take care of his clients, then leave them behind when the contract was over. Maybe if he treated Camilla as an Elite Security client, it would wash away the past month. He could make sure she was safe then move on. His house would once again be a place where he could exhale. Alone. How it should have been all along.
They had just over two weeks of footage to go through, and even watching it at double speed, it took hours. Elton wrote some kind of script to speed the process, automatically flagging potential suspects in the footage, but that didn’t speed things up enough for Marlon’s liking. They still had to review everything the script had flagged, then change the parameters and do it all over again.
It was slow, tedious work, and it made Marlon’s stress wind tighter and tighter in his chest, like his ribs were caught in big steel straps slowly winching themselves shut. He felt like he was missing something, but he also felt like he shouldn’t care about this at all. Every minute he spent watching the bakery footage was tearing him apart.
“Is there anyone who wants to hurt her?” Elton asked for the thousandth time. He’d asked the question a dozen different ways, but every single one of them had the same answer:
“I don’t know.”
And wasn’t that the truth? Marlon had no idea if someone wanted to hurt Camilla. He’d seen the panic in her eyes, but she hadn’t wanted to share its cause. Did he know anything about her? They’d teased each other, laughed, shared bits and pieces of their pasts…but what did that mean, really? He’d thought he was falling in love with her. Was he delusional? He didn’t even know her well enough to love the first thing about her.
As he watched people zip in and out of frame on the screen at inhuman speeds, his mind played Camilla’s voice on repeat: You keep wanting to ride to my rescue, but I don’t need that.
She had him figured out, didn’t she? She could tell that he liked walking around like some kind of pathetic, puffed-up hero. He’d always relished taking care of everyone around him and pretending they needed him.
She didn’t need him to be her protector. She hadn’t even wanted the security system in the first place until he’d forced her to accept it.
Marlon glared at the screen.
“You don’t look too happy, boss.”
He glanced at Elton, who was sipping sludge-like coffee out of a mug with a glittery cat on its side. Marlon shook his head. “Just want to find this guy.”
Elton pressed a key, and one of the screens switched to an image of Camilla in her bakery’s kitchen, pulling perfectly baked cakes out of the oven. She touched the tops of them then turned around to face her work surface again, where more ingredients were laid out.
She stood still for a long moment, staring at the counter. Then her shoulders shook with heavy sobs all of a sudden, like a wave of emotion had come out of nowhere.
Marlon’s heart clenched.
“You want to head over there?” Elton asked casually. “I can handle the CCTV footage.”
Camilla’s body stilled, and he watched her straighten her spine. She took a deep breath, then moved to the ingredients in front of her.
Marlon hesitated, but her voice played in his head again. If he showed up at her back door, he’d be trying to ride to her rescue. Camilla didn’t need him to do that. She said it to his face. “She didn’t want me there.”
“I’m sure you can sit in the corner and keep quiet.”
“She didn’t want me there,” he repeated, voice tight.
Elton stared at him for a beat, then shrugged and got back to work. Marlon pushed his chair away from the desk and stalked through the office. His eyes were sore, like he needed a good, long sleep. But his body was wound up tight.
The thought of going home, of that house so silent and empty…
He dropped back into the seat next to Elton’s and got back to work. Changing tack, Marlon pulled up the public property records for The Sweetest Thing’s address. Maybe he could find out what Camilla was hiding without her telling him. He could figure out who was targeting her business. Wasn’t this his job? Wasn’t this what he did day in, day out?
He scoured online records, but he only found out that it had been sold to a new owner twenty years ago and leased ever since. The property wasn’t in her name, but she was the owner of the business based on state records. Was she not making enough money to cover her lease? What was going on?
Frustrated, Marlon stalked out of the room and went to splash some water on his face in the bathroom. As droplets gathered in his beard, he stared at himself in the mirror and felt utterly pathetic.
He was clinging onto this woman who was pushing him away. She said it plain as day: She didn’t need him to be her hero and ride to her rescue. Wouldn’t it be better for him to go home, get some sleep, and let her sort out her own problems like she so desperately wanted to?
That would be the smart thing to do, but once he’d dried his face, Marlon went back to the video footage and got back to work.
Panic was a devil sitting on Camilla’s shoulder, whispering doubts in her ear. Her hands flew as she baked her heart out, the deep, worn grooves of habit helping her move. She made the cakes in record time and set them to cool, then checked over her other desserts.
She only broke down in tears four times over the course of the evening, which felt like a win. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sink into the earth’s molten core, but she’d blot her tears, take a deep breath, and keep going.
As she worked, Camilla told herself the situation was salvageable. Four of the sheet cakes were intact, which was fortunate. She only had to make the decorative tiered cake and two more sheet cakes. Most of the other desserts had been left alone, so the dessert table didn’t need her attention. She could do this, as long as she worked quickly.
Her phone rang as she set out the ingredients for the frosting, and she scrambled to wash her hands and pull it out of her apron pocket. It wasn’t Marlon, and Camilla refused to acknowledge the acrid disappointment gurgling in her gut.
“Hey, Scarlett.”
“You haven’t been answering any of your text messages. Are you okay? We heard from Cormac that someone broke into your bakery?”
“Yeah. The Goodhew cake was ruined, so I’m making it again.” The rest of her problems loomed like a monster in the shadows, but she didn’t have words for them. The cake needed to be her focus.
“We’re on our way,” Scarlett responded, and the line went dead.
Camilla huffed. She should turn them away and focus on what needed to be done, but when the knock came on the back door, she still opened up for her friends (after checking that it was them on the security cameras). Scarlett, Amelia, and Lucy took over her space like a friendly, overwhelming flock of birds. They demanded answers and perched on various seats as she shooed them away from her work surface so she could keep baking.
Their presence soothed her, and Camilla ignored how much she wished Marlon were here. Their relationship had been built on a shaky foundation; it would never have worked. She needed to take care of herself first of all.
“Where’s Marlon?”
Amelia’s question drew Camilla out of her own head. “He left a few hours ago,” she replied, not answering the question at all.
Amelia frowned. “That’s weird. He didn’t stay here? He left you alone?”
“Yeah,” Camilla answered, ducking into the storeroom to get away from their stares. When she came back out, all three women were watching her.
“Hmm.” Lucy narrowed her eyes.
“Yes,” Scarlett agreed. “Hmm.”
“What?” Camilla turned her back on her friends and started taking the cakes out of their pans. She’d pop them in the freezer to try to cool them down quickly; otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to start decorating until morning, and that was cutting it a bit too close.
“You pushed him away,” Lucy said.
“And I bet that killed him,” Amelia noted, “especially if he’s anything like Leo. He probably has a big mushy heart.”
Camilla’s own heart gave a sharp stab of pain. “It’s not that deep,” she lied. “I just have a lot of work to do, and I need to focus. I’m moving out of his place tomorrow.”
“Um,” Amelia said, “ what ?”
“It was always a temporary situation.”
“Where are you moving to?”
“You can crash on my couch,” Lucy offered.
Camilla glanced at her friend and put a brave smile on her face. “I haven’t quite figured that out yet, but I will. Thank you, Lucy. I’ll let you know once this cake is done and delivered and I have time to think about anything else.” And after she’d faced Frankie Smith for the very last time.
There was a deep, uncomfortable silence. Then Scarlett said, gently, “Camilla, sweetie, are you okay? Maybe there’s another solution for the cake… We can get one from another bakery… Fred will understand.”
Camilla kept working. She peeled off the baking paper she’d used to line the pans and tossed it. Her hands were shaking.
“Do you want me to talk to Fred?” Amelia asked. “I can explain what happened.”
“No,” Camilla clipped. “I told him I’d have his cake at the venue by ten o’clock in the morning, so that’s what’s going to happen. This is my first and last chance to make a good impression with him and his peers, and I don’t want that to be overshadowed by anything. I won’t have Nadia stressing about her wedding cake the day before she gets married.”
“Okay,” Amelia answered. From the corner of Camilla’s eyes, she saw the three of them exchange glances. “Can we help?”
“I’d really just like to be left alone,” Camilla answered, spinning to face them. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude. I love you and I appreciate you checking in, but I really need to focus.”
Lucy looked like she wanted to say something, but she remained silent. Amelia and Scarlett glanced at each other, then at Camilla. Tension lay thick in the air, all of Camilla’s secrets standing like the stakes of a palisade between them.
Finally, Amelia nodded. “Sure. Call us if you need anything. Do you have a ride home?”
Camilla glanced toward the front of the bakery, frowning. Her car was at Marlon’s house; she’d walked to the Winter Festival with the girls, and Marlon had driven her here.
“I’ll leave my car,” Lucy offered, pulling out her keys. “Scarlett, can I get a lift from you?”
“Of course.”
Camilla took the keys, squeezing them against her palm as her throat tightened. She didn’t deserve her friends. Not when she hadn’t told them about Frankie and the debt. Not when it felt like she was lying to them right now. But they each hugged her in turn, then left her to her work.
Camilla slept at the bakery, curled on the floor in her office. When she went to sleep, Daniel was already bustling around the kitchen as he started on the day’s bread. Camilla got a few hours of fitful sleep while he hummed to himself on the other side of the office door.
Her alarm went off too soon, and she stumbled out, put her apron on, and put the finishing touches on the cake. When she checked her bank account, the money had cleared. She’d be able to go to the one branch of her bank that was open for a few hours on Saturday to get enough cash to end this nightmare once and for all.
Marlon hadn’t called or texted to check in on her after all, and Camilla tried to tell herself she wasn’t bothered. Their relationship was over, and it was for the best. She checked over her lists for the order, made sure everything was in order, and heaved a sigh of relief. It was nine o’clock, and she’d done it.
So why did she feel so awful?
“It looks great, Camilla,” Daniel said, wrapping an arm around her and leaving a floury handprint on her shoulder. “All of it. But you should have called me to come help instead of redoing it all on your own last night.”
She looked over the baked goods that would free her from the guillotine blade she’d borrowed from Frankie Smith. “I needed to fix this myself.”
Daniel sighed, squeezed her close, then got back to work. The bakery’s dining room was noisy with customers and employees, the espresso machine hissing, the till banging open and closed. Camilla didn’t have the strength to go out there and put on a cheery face. Instead, she packed up the tiered cake and as many sheet cakes as would fit in the trunk of Lucy’s car and drove to the Goodhew wedding venue.
Fred and Nadia had chosen to get married at the grandest venue in Stirling, the Old Road Hotel, which was nestled in the forest just on the outskirts of town. The stone building sat like a sentinel at the bottom of Stirling Hill, surrounded by trees. As Camilla drove, snowflakes began to fall. For the first time all year, they were sticking to the ground. The Goodhews’ wedding photos would be gorgeous.
Camilla drove carefully along the long drive. She’d have to make one more trip to get the rest of the desserts for the wedding, and then she could stop at the bank and withdraw the cash she needed to pay Frankie.
Then her nightmare would be over.
She rolled her window down and spoke to one of the staff members at the hotel gates, who waved her on to the service entrance at the back of the building. She was acquainted with the kitchen staff member who came to meet her, and she brought the tiered wedding cake in on a wheeled trolley.
Once the cake was in the building, Camilla assembled the tiers and put the finishing touches on the decorations. It looked elegant and timeless and delicious, and all it needed was the Goodhews’ priceless cake topper. Camilla then spent an hour ferrying other delicious goodies into the kitchen while the rest of the staff prepared to cater the huge event.
There was a buzz in the air: that familiar, just-on-the-edge-of-chaos feeling that seemed to live in commercial kitchens. A big, tattooed dishwasher worked at warp speed on the other side of the room while men and women in white uniforms chopped and stirred and prepped like their lives depended on it.
Most of the people were strangers to her, apart from the head chef and a couple of the serving staff who were zipping in and out of the kitchen. Still, the energy of the room sank into her pores and gave Camilla a little boost of energy.
It didn’t last long. By the time all the desserts were at the venue, prepped and accounted for, tiredness had seeped into Camilla’s marrow. She slipped out of the kitchen and leaned against the hallway wall, closing her eyes as she let out a deep breath.
She felt Marlon before she ever heard him. His presence was like a tug on her gut she couldn’t ignore. She opened her eyes and turned to face him as he stalked down the corridor toward her, taking up more space than he should.
His eyes were dark as he scanned her, brows drawn. All Camilla wanted to do was faceplant into his chest and feel his arms circle her, but those days were over. She didn’t have the right to draw comfort from him anymore.
Silence stretched between them for a moment.
“Hi,” Camilla finally said.
“You get the cake done?”
Camilla nodded. “Yeah.”
Marlon dipped his chin. “Good.”
Their conversations had never been stilted—not like this. They’d spent so much time together over the past month, much of it in silence, but it had never felt so alien, so uncomfortable.
Acid gurgled in Camilla’s stomach. Her instinct was to run away and hide from this, but as she stared into Marlon’s eyes, she realized that she didn’t want to run or hide. She wanted to fix this too, just like she’d fixed the cake.
Camilla had spent her entire adult life learning to stand on her own. She’d been taught over and over again—by her family, by her ex, by the mistakes she made with Frankie—that it was better to rely on no one but herself.
But Marlon had shown her something new. He’d been there to cook dinner when she was dead on her feet. He wrapped his arms around her at night and set her off into deep, peaceful slumber. He made her laugh. Made her gasp. Made her happy .
She didn’t want to stand apart from him. For the first time in over a decade, Camilla wanted to open herself up to something new. She’d been terrified the night before—terrified and furious. But what if she’d been wrong? Marlon had just been trying to keep her safe. He had no idea that her business was on the line, and it was because she’d been too afraid to tell him.
He was a good man. She wanted so desperately to be the woman for him, and she knew she had to be the one to take the first step.
“I’m sorry,” Camilla blurted.
Marlon blinked. Frowned. “For what?”
“For pushing you away last night. I was stressed out, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
There was a moment—an instant—where Camilla thought Marlon would cross the distance between them. She thought she’d get to smell the scent of his skin, feel his arms wrap around her body.
But Marlon’s eyes grew shuttered as his jaw hardened. “Thanks. Apology accepted.”
Who could have guessed that three simple, polite words could crush Camilla so thoroughly? There was no fixing what was broken between them. She’d hurt Marlon, pushed him away, and now their relationship was over.
Exhaustion seeped into the marrow of her bones. She slumped where she stood, feeling the weight of the past twenty-four hours—and the weight of what was to come with Frankie—press down on her shoulders. Blinking up at the man before her, Camilla didn’t have the strength to pretend. “Can I stay at your place tonight?” she asked, all her pride stripped away. “I know I said I’d be out, but I haven’t had time to line up a place to stay. I could ask one of the girls, but all my stuff is at your place and…”
She trailed off when she saw the tightness in his jaw. His eyes blazed, like her request made him angry.
Hurt and unwilling to let him see her cry, Camilla straightened. “Never mind. Forget I asked. I’ll pick up my stuff while you’re here working and leave the keys in the mailbox.”
“Camilla—”
She turned to go, but Marlon caught her arm.
“Of course you can stay at my place,” he said, voice low. “Camilla. I…”
His voice trailed off, and then his phone rang. He yanked it out of his pocket, jaw tight, nostrils flaring, and Camilla took the opportunity to run away. She got in her car and headed to the bank. There was one more chore to take care of today. After that, Camilla would let herself fall apart.