Chapter 1
Chapter One
Adrianna
Sixteen Years Later
Taking over Bosco’s Baked Goods when Mom retired wasn’t just tradition—it was practical.
Someone had to run the place, and I’d practically grown up behind this counter, anyway.
Besides, Mom is better off focusing on the house and helping with Bella.
Junior high is rough, and my niece needs all the support she can get.
I get it. I really do. I was the chubby, nerdy girl in my class too—more sugar than sparkle, more books than boys.
Nothing like my late sister Bonnie, who was born with beauty dripping off her like buttercream.
Homecoming queen.
Prom queen.
Yearbook star.
And then, tragically, gone far too soon.
Ovarian cancer took her right after Bella was born.
Some days I still forget and expect Bonnie to barrel into the kitchen with a new recipe idea or complain about her hair.
Most days, I just ache.
But I swore to her I’d take care of her little girl, and I’ve kept that promise.
Bella is mine now—and I mean that in every sense of the word. Not like she’s a possession.
She’s just mine.
My heart, my responsibility, my reason to get up at four every morning to start the dough.
Mom helps. It keeps her busy, fills the quiet spaces left behind after Dad passed.
Bella’s biological father never bothered to get in touch with Bonnie after he knocked her up and they split.
I never met him.
Bella hasn’t either.
Far as I know, Bonnie didn’t see or hear from him since the second she left his Manhattan apartment.
Afterwards, she moved back in with our parents and was already pregnant with Bella. Fast forward to Bonnie discovering she had cancer, and after a grueling battle, succumbing to that bastard of a diagnosis, and here we are now.
Bella’s being raised with all the love and care my mother and I can deliver. It’s not perfect, but it works for us.
And as far as her sperm donor goes?
Good riddance, in my opinion.
The three of us Bosco women? We’re tough. We make it work.
The bakery has a steady clientele, same as always, but since I started shipping our goods worldwide, we’re doing better than ever.
It’s not some millionaire fantasy, but it keeps us comfortable. Secure.
Life is good.
Sometimes, though? Sometimes I let myself think about the road not taken.
My real dreams.
Writing. Not books—God no. But poems. Lyrics. Tiny bursts of emotion I could tuck into melodies.
I still do it here and there, scribbling in a notebook hidden under the register.
Nothing serious. Nothing anyone else will ever see.
I’m not brave enough for the scrutiny that comes with sharing something like that. Writing is just so personal—there’s no way it’s not. And to open yourself to ridicule and judgment?
It’s not an easy thing to do, and something I won’t do.
Not ever again.
Once upon a time, I had a boyfriend who swore I was his muse. That we’d write songs together forever.
Nathan Thorn.
Yes, him. The platinum record winner, Nathan Thorn.
I try not to think about him. Or the way we were tangled together—young and electric and convinced the world was ours.
He left.
He was meant to.
He was destined for bigger stages than this small town could ever offer.
Good for you, Nate. I truly hope you’re happy.
What? I do! I mean, sure there was the time I saw him with some starlet on the red carpet and scoffed at how thin and perfect she looked and how stupid he did in a monkey suit—but that was just sour grapes.
They both looked divine.
Whatever. Nathan doesn’t need me to wish him well.
He is the goddamn epitome of a hometown boy made good.
As for me? I like my life. I do.
“Yes, I do,” I say out loud, firm enough to convince myself.
The bell over the door jingles.
“Morning,” Justin says, stepping inside with his eyebrows raised. “Talking to yourself again, Sweet Cakes?”
Ugh, I hate that nickname.
I don’t even bother correcting him anymore. Justin means well.
He’s a nice man—neat, dependable, a junior high math teacher who color-codes his lesson plans and makes sure his car is inspected a full month early.
We’ve been dating a few months, and he’s fine.
Handsome in a safe, catalog sort of way.
Nerdy enough to be interesting.
Sweet enough to be comfortable.
He isn’t earth-shattering.
He doesn’t make my pulse stutter.
But he’s steady.
Reliable.
Just like the numbers he teaches.
“Heard that, did you?” I reply, smiling as I hand him his usual—bran muffin and black coffee. Of course.
“Reliable habits,” he says, grinning. “It’s one of the things I appreciate about you.”
Reliable.
Right.
It’s not sexy, but hey, beggars and all that.
I smile back because that’s what I do.
Because reliable is good.
Predictable is safe.
And the wildfire version of love? The kind that steals your breath and changes your destiny? Well, that burned out a long time ago.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
“So what do you say we go out Friday night?” Justin asks, sliding a ten across the counter.
I take it automatically, turning toward the register.
“Friday is the school play,” I remind him.
Just saying it out loud makes something bright and warm flicker in my chest. Bella has a tiny role—a few lines and a background moment—but she’s been practicing like she’s headlining Broadway.
I’ve heard her rehearsing in her room at night, the floorboards creaking as she paces out her blocking, whispering her lines with surprising emotion.
She’s good.
Really good.
The kind of good that makes my throat tighten because maybe, just maybe, she got a little piece of Bonnie’s magic.
“Oh crap, you’re right,” Justin says, snapping his fingers. “I’m supposed to chaperone.”
He frowns, then brightens like he’s solved a math problem. “Even better—I’ll see you there.”
I hand him his change, our fingers brushing for a second.
Nothing sparks. Nothing shifts.
It’s just contact. Simple. Expected.
“After,” he continues, leaning on the counter, “maybe we can grab a bite? Late dinner somewhere?”
“Um…” I plaster on a polite smile. “Sure. Let’s do that.”
His shoulders relax like he was genuinely worried I’d say no. And I feel a pang of guilt because I want to want this. I want to feel something other than polite acceptance.
Justin is nice. He’s got a job and is part of the community.
He’s exactly the kind of man I should be building a future with.
But as he tucks the bag with the muffin under his arm and lifts the coffee in a silent goodbye, I realize I can’t drum up real enthusiasm.
Not even a flicker.
“Great,” he says with an earnest nod. “I’ll save you a seat.”
“Sounds good,” I reply softly.
He leaves, the bell chiming overhead as the morning breeze slips inside.
I exhale, pressing my palms against the counter.
Maybe I’m kidding myself with this lukewarm, room-temperature romance.
Maybe safe isn’t enough.
Maybe it never was.
But the bell above the door jingles, pulling me out of my head.
Another customer.
Another order.
Another reminder that life doesn’t pause just because my heart is feeling uncertain.
I straighten my apron and remind myself of the truth.
I have a bakery to run.
A niece to raise.
A school play to attend.
And absolutely zero reason to think about the boy who once set my whole world on fire—and then left without looking back.
Which, of course is exactly when fate decides to be a spiteful little witch.
Nathan Thorn’s voice pours through the bakery’s speakers, smooth and aching, one of his earliest hits drifting in from the satellite radio station we always keep on for background noise.
I freeze.
My stomach drops.
Of course it’s him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath.
Adele—because naturally my employee is named Adele—slides in beside me with a knowing grin.
She’s twenty-one, too observant for her own good, and absolutely delighted by drama that isn’t hers.
“So,” she drawls, propping her elbow on the counter, “I hear you’ve got a hot date Friday.”
I shoot her a look. “Oh, hush up.”
I snort, shoulder-check her gently, and push past toward the ovens—ignoring the giggles bubbling up behind me.
Nathan Thorn.
Just a song.
Just a coincidence.
And yet my hands won’t stop shaking.