Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Adrianna
I honestly don’t know how I’m functioning right now.
Some fuckshit showed up on my porch claiming to be Bella’s father—Bella’s father—and demanded to see his little girl like she was a toy he misplaced instead of a human being my sister brought into this world alone and scared.
My head pounded, my stomach crashed into my shoes, and every instinct in my body screamed danger.
My first instinct? Well, I just wanted to grab Bella and run, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
She’s built a life here. We’ve built a life. And maybe it’s not the one I imagined for myself when I was still a kid, but I love that little girl and I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe.
Fuck Giovanni Russo.
If he thinks he can just waltz into her life and mess everything up, he has another think coming.
And even with all those turbulent thoughts and emotions roiling through me I somehow slapped on the brightest, fakest smile I own, grabbed my gloves, and drove to the school with Mom chattering beside me like everything was perfectly normal.
Like my insides weren’t shaking so hard I could hear the tremors in my teeth.
Thank fuck there was enough going on when we arrived to distract me.
Setting up the bakery stand.
Making sure we had enough change.
Making sure Mom’s heavy wooden sign didn’t fall on Adele’s foot again.
Making sure the cocoa urn didn’t explode like last year.
Busy hands. Busy mind.
That’s the only reason I’m not curled up crying in the bathroom stall.
Once the stand was up and running, I grabbed a few bags of cookies to drop off with people who sat down early—mostly elderly sweethearts who donate to every PTA raffle and fund drive.
I was halfway down the aisle when Justin somehow materialized at my elbow like a dependable-but-unwanted woodland creature.
Rather than tell him to fuck off—which I really, truly wanted to—I pasted on a polite smile and let him walk me back toward the bakery table with his hand hovering at the small of my back like a librarian herding children.
Ugh.
Mom turns away from her conversation with Mr. Gimble, that sweet older gentleman who owns the pottery and craft store, and spots me.
“Hello Justin, I see you’ve brought my girl back safe and sound,” she says, fake smile plastered to her face.
“Of course, Mrs. Bosco. Don’t forget our date after the show,” Justin says to me with a grin that’s supposed to be sexy, but really, it’s more borderline cringe.
“Um, actually, Justin, I’m going to have to pass,” I begin, but he’s not paying attention to me.
Some other parent approaches and starts talking to him, and just like that, he forgets I exist.
It’s actually kind of a blessing.
I turn to Adele and go over the limited menu and inventory.
“Did you remember the pistachio biscotti?”
“Yep. I put them in the small cellophane bags, two to a bag,” she says and shows me the crate.
I nod.
“Five minutes till curtain!” one of the kids yells, and a murmur sounds through the gymnasium followed by an expectant sort of hush.
“What about our seats?” Mom whispers, eyes bright, cheeks a little flushed.
I notice Mr. Gimble is still standing beside her, and I nod my head in their direction.
“You go ahead and sit, Mom,” I say, straightening a tray of gingerbread men. “I’m gonna stay and help Adele for a bit.”
“Oh, but we have two seats,” she says, and I notice the quick, shy glance she throws at Mr. Gimble.
My eyebrows rise.
Her cheeks turn pink.
His smile widens.
Holy shit.
“Mr. Gimble might like to sit with you,” I say gently, nudging her with my hip. “Go ahead. You two enjoy.”
Mom bites her lip like a teenager instead of a sixty-year-old widow, and Mr. Gimble offers her his elbow like the gentleman he is.
“Well, if you’re sure,” Mom murmurs.
“I’m positive,” I assure her.
And just like that, my mother walks off on what is very possibly a date with the most eligible bachelor in town over sixty.
Somewhere in my chest, a small, unexpected bubble of warmth rises.
Maybe tonight isn’t a total disaster.
Maybe joy can still exist even when fear lurks in the corners.
Maybe life is allowed to pleasantly surprise me sometimes.
Little do I know, the biggest surprise of the night is about to hit me square in the face just a few seconds later.
A shadow falls across the bakery table just as Adele excuses herself to use the restroom.
I’m alone. Vulnerable. My nerves haven’t settled since the doorbell incident, so when the silhouette blocks the light, I gasp—my heart slamming into my ribs as visions of Giovanni Russo flash through my mind.
But then the shadow shifts, and the man steps closer.
Hat. Sunglasses. Hoodie.
But I’d know the shape of him anywhere.
My heart stutters. Trips. Falls flat on its face.
“Nate?” I whisper.
He lifts his chin, and even with half his face hidden, I can feel the intensity of his gaze.
“Hello, Ad,” he murmurs. “Is it alright if I sit back here?”
My pulse is still racing, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
He rubs the back of his neck—a nervous gesture I remember too well.
“Just lending some support. Dropped off a donation earlier, and the vice principal invited me.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Oh, what—you needed some attention? So you decided to come steal it from a bunch of middle schoolers?”
“Fuck, is that what you think of me?” he snaps quietly, wounded anger threading through his voice. “Look, I wanted to see you. And the show. But no, I don’t want to steal any attention. That’s why I’m hiding back here in the dark like a creep.”
He’s telling the truth.
It hits me instantly.
And I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I mutter. “Of course you can sit back here.”
I point to an empty folding chair near the bakery table.
He sits, awkward and enormous and unmistakably him.
The table is set up all the way in the back, but that just means we have an unobstructed view of the stage right down the center aisle.
We watch the first half quietly, gasping at the surprisingly clever stage design, and smiling widely when Bella makes an appearance.
The kids are great.
But I’m so fucking aware of him, it isn’t even funny.
“And now we break for a fifteen minute intermission!” the same kid who made the curtain call yells again.
“You wanna talk?” Nathan asks, but the intermission line is already forming—so I shake my head.
“Sorry,” I reply and smile at my first customer.
And that’s when the chaos begins.
Customers pile up.
I’m talking nonstop, smiling, grabbing cookie bags, taking payments.
And without a word, Nathan steps in beside me.
He hands me the orders before I reach for them.
He restocks the table when the gingerbread men run low.
He quietly wipes crumbs off the edge of the display case.
All without making a scene.
All without drawing attention.
All without being Nathan Thorn, rockstar.
It feels weirdly natural.
Like muscle memory.
Like the way we used to write songs together—passing ideas back and forth without ever needing to speak.
“Hey, you look familiar,” Mrs. Gulliver—our old math teacher—squints up at him.
Oh shit.
Nate shrugs and says, in the worst accent I’ve ever heard, “Don’t think so, ma’am.”
It’s so bad I choke on a laugh, and Mrs. Gulliver moves along, unconvinced but distracted by a snickerdoodle.
For a little while, we work in companionable silence.
And I hate that it feels nice.
Comfortable.
Dangerously familiar.
When the lights blink, signaling the end of intermission, Nate doesn’t leave.
He stays right where he is—hunched in the shadows beside me—watching as the auditorium quiets and the curtain rises for Act Two.
It’s time for her big scene, and Bella steps into the spotlight.
My breath catches.
She glows.
Confident.
Capable.
Alive in a way that makes my chest ache with pride.
“Is that her?” Nate whispers.
I nod, pressing a hand over my heart.
“Yeah. That’s my girl.”
I glance at him as he watches her, and I witness his eyes softening. Shit. That does something to me.
Fills me with emotion. Pride. And something else.
“She’s good, Ad. Really good.”
Then, more quietly, “Looks just like you and Bonnie when you were kids.”
The comment slips under my ribs and settles somewhere deep, warm, and painful.
My eyes sting—not with sadness this time, but something gentler.
For once, I have no idea what to say.
And beside me, Nathan stays silent too.
Just two people sitting in the dark, watching a bright little girl bring magic to the stage.
And for just one moment it feels like maybe I haven’t lost everything after all.