Chapter 16
Pale orange light washed through the shattered front windows.
Cara stood by the counter, broom in hand, heart hammering against her ribs. Her eyes kept drifting to the back door, half-expecting shadows to shift into men with heavy boots and searching hands.
Gabe monitored the street through the front window, tense and coiled like a spring waiting to release.
She forced herself to take stock. Flour blanketed the floor.
Cabinets hung broken from the walls. The oven bore a massive dent.
Shelves collapsed against each other like exhausted soldiers.
The ceramic crock with Agnes's remains sat on the counter beside Margaret Sweet’s spoon, snapped cleanly in half.
Her throat closed around a sound she refused to make. She couldn’t fix this alone.
The thought terrified her more than the break-in.
A car door slammed outside. Cara flinched so hard she nearly dropped the broom.
Gabe's hand went to his weapon. His body shifted toward the door, blocking her line of sight.
Reagan barreled through so fast the bell barely had time to jingle, her hair twisted into a lopsided bun, pajama pants stuffed into rubber rain boots, and a travel mug of coffee clutched in one white-knuckled fist. "Cara Sweet, you better not tell me this is some kind of joke."
Cara opened her mouth to respond.
What came out was closer to a sob than a word.
Reagan crossed the distance in three strides and wrapped her arms around her so tight it hurt. The coffee mug clattered to the floor, forgotten. Cara buried her face in Reagan's shoulder and let herself shake.
Just for a second. Long enough to remember she wasn't on her own. Not entirely.
Reagan pulled back and studied her like a triage nurse assessing damage. Her fingers brushed Cara's cheek, pushed hair out of her eyes, checked for injuries that weren't visible. "Sit down. You look like death warmed over."
"I'm okay."
"You're gray. Sit."
Cara sat.
The front door burst open again.
Piper exploded into the bakery like a tornado in a rainbow beanie. She gasped. "What even happened here?"
She had her phone out before anyone could stop her. Snapping photos of the destruction from seventeen different angles. Narrating under her breath like a true crime podcast host.
"This is horrifying. Also weirdly aesthetic? Like disaster chic. The flour really catches the morning light."
Cara blinked. "Piper. Why aren't you in school?"
"Because my friend's bakery got trashed and school can wait." Piper lowered her phone long enough to shoot Cara a look that dared her to argue. "Dad agrees."
Tom followed his daughter through the door, moving with the steady calm of someone who fixed things for a living. Toolbelt already strapped around his waist like he'd grabbed it on the way out.
He surveyed the damage without speaking. "Tell me what needs doing first."
Cara's eyes burned. She pressed her palms against her thighs and concentrated on breathing.
Tom crossed to her and placed one warm hand on her shoulder. Didn't say anything. Didn't need to.
The simple contact nearly undid her completely.
The door opened again.
Wade strolled in with a serious toolbox and an expression of studied casualness that fooled no one.
His eyes swept the perimeter before he'd taken three steps. The same way Gabe had done an hour ago, cataloging exits and vulnerabilities.
He crouched by the back door and examined the pry marks, running a calloused finger along the splintered frame. "These boys knew what they were doing."
Gabe watched Wade with sharpened attention.
While everyone focused on the damage, Cara slipped away to a quiet corner near the basement stairs where the shadows were thick enough to hide in.
Her hands shook.
She pressed them flat against the wall and concentrated on the rough texture of the plaster. The cool solidity of something real and unchanging. Finally, she let the tears come.
She wasn't crying for the bakery.
She was crying because people came.
Because they dropped everything and showed up with coffee and toolbelts and righteous anger on her behalf. Because Reagan hugged her like family. Because Tom touched her shoulder like she mattered. Because Piper skipped school without hesitation.
Because she had no idea how to accept any of it.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and forced herself to breathe.
When she turned around, Gabe was watching her from the end of the hallway.
She wiped her eyes and stood on wobbly legs, heading back to the others.
Cleanup happened in organized chaos.
Tom reattached shelves with quiet speed.
Piper swept flour into piles while providing running commentary on everything from the structural integrity of the espresso machine to her theories about the perpetrators.
Reagan commandeered a notebook and started creating an inventory of ruined items, already turning disaster into a rebuilding plan.
Wade repaired the back door with far too much skill for a simple fisherman.
Gabe positioned himself near the front, reinforcing vulnerable points while keeping his eyes on every exit and entrance.
Cara grabbed a dustpan and tried to make herself useful.
This is what family looks like.
The thought caught her off guard.
"Oh, hey." Piper's voice cut through the noise. She was crouched under the espresso machine, scrubbing at something sticky. "I forgot to mention. I saw two guys behind the bakery Thursday night."
Everyone stopped.
Gabe's entire posture changed. Sharpened. "What guys?"
"I don't know. Dark jackets. They were just standing there." Piper shrugged, still scrubbing. "I figured they were lost tourists or something. They didn't look at me."
"What were they doing?"
"Nothing? Just standing there, looking at the building." She finally glanced up, registering the tension in the room.
Reagan's face had gone pale. "Piper, honey, why didn't you say something?"
"Because nobody listens to teenagers." Piper's tone carried zero self-pity. Just fact. "I figured I was being paranoid."
Gabe pulled out his phone. "Can you describe them? Height? Build? Any distinguishing features?"
Piper scrunched up her face. “Just, you know, like normal man-figures, I guess. Not short. Not fat. Just…average?”
The bells jingled as the front door opened.
Pastor Ben stepped inside, his face creased with concern.
He took in the destruction with quiet gravity, then found Cara's eyes across the room.
"Heard about the break in." His voice carried the same gentle warmth as always. "Thought you might need some company."
He didn't ask questions. Didn't pry. Just crossed to where she stood and offered his presence like a gift.
"Mind if I pray with you all? Before you get back to work?"
Reagan nodded. Tom bowed his head. Piper set down her scrub brush. Even Wade went still, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely comfortable.
Gabe hesitated. Then lowered his chin.
Pastor Ben's voice filled the broken space, asking for safety and strength and new beginnings to rise from the ashes of old fears.
Something shifted in Cara's chest. Something warm she hadn't let herself feel in a long time.
Maybe You sent me here for more than hiding. The prayer was barely a whisper in her own mind. But it felt like the most honest thing she'd thought in months.
Pastor Ben finished, the silence held for a moment. Sacred. Unbroken.
Then Piper sneezed, loudly, and the spell shattered into quiet laughter.
She caught Gabe’s gaze. The worry behind his eyes had shifted into something personal.
That scared her more than anything else.
She couldn’t let her new friends get hurt because of her.
The thought settled heavy in her chest.
By noon, the bakery looked almost functional. Not perfect. Not restored. But salvageable.
Piper stood at the front window with a piece of poster board and a handful of markers, tongue stuck out in concentration.
"What are you doing?" Cara asked.
"Making a sign. For the door." Piper didn't look up. "Can't have people showing up expecting muffins when we're clearly in crisis mode."
Five minutes later, she held up her masterpiece.
CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS (and by renovations we mean cleaning up after rude people who don't understand the concept of knocking)
We'll be back soon with:
Better locks
The same great pastries
Possibly a guard dog
Definitely more flour
In the meantime, try not to break into anything.
- Management (and Piper, who is absolutely management material)
Reagan burst out laughing. Tom shook his head with a grin. Even Wade cracked a smile.
Cara’s throat tightened for an entirely different reason. "It's perfect," she managed.
Piper taped it to the front door with excessive amounts of tape, then stepped back to admire her work. "You're welcome."
The afternoon stretched into a rhythm of hammering and sweeping.
Tom measured and cut replacement shelving with the ease of someone who'd spent a lifetime making things fit.
Reagan's supply list grew to three pages.
Wade installed a deadbolt on the back door that looked like it could withstand a battering ram.
Piper documented everything with running commentary about disaster recovery and the importance of community support.
Cara moved between them, handing tools and holding boards steady and trying not to think about what she'd dragged them into.
But the thoughts came anyway. Her friends had walked through that door this morning without hesitation, showing up with toolbelts and coffee and righteous anger on her behalf. They'd tied themselves to her now. To whatever mess she'd landed in. To the danger circling closer with every passing hour.
And they had absolutely no training for what was coming.
Reagan owned a coffee shop. Tom fixed computers or created software or something. Piper was seventeen. Wade might have military experience, but he was one man against organized professionals.
None of them were equipped for men who killed private investigators and kidnapped journalists.
But Gabe was.
Whatever happened next, she'd handle it with him.
But these people? These good, decent people who'd shown up at dawn because she'd sent a text?
They needed to stay as far from this as possible. She was done pulling them into danger.
No matter how much it cost her to push them away.
Lord, I don't know how to keep them safe except to handle this alone. Help me protect them even if they hate me for it. Even if it means losing the first real family I've had in years.
The prayer tasted like ash.
But it was honest.
And right now, honest was all she had left.