Chapter 13
Thirteen
Caroline
The muffins were still warm when I got to the café, a little over baked on top but otherwise perfect. I’d wrapped the basket in a blue dish towel and even tied a bow, like some kind of old-school housewife.
But when I turned the corner, Massimo’s was dark. The lights off, chairs stacked, not a single customer in sight.
A handwritten sign on the door read: Closed Saturdays. Family Day.
I stood there for a minute, fighting the weird disappointment that crawled up my throat. I’d just wanted to say thank you, maybe see if Noah really liked bCarolinena bread as much as he claimed.
I started to turn away, but a parade of black SUVs rolled up to the alley behind the building. They were too nice for delivery vans—these had tinted windows and chrome grilles that made them look like they ate lesser cars for breakfast.
A group of men got out, all dressed in the kind of suits you rent for court dates or funerals. They barely glanced my way, heading straight for the side entrance.
A second later, Noah appeared—no apron, but still perfectly put together. He greeted each man with a nod, then held the door as they disappeared inside.
He caught sight of me through the window and jogged over, not looking the least bit surprised to find me waiting.
“Hey, you,” he said, genuinely happy. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”
“I brought muffins,” I blurted, feeling suddenly silly. “For you. For the crew.”
He took the basket with both hands, the way you might accept an award. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Thank you for the car thing,” I said, fidgeting with my sleeve.
He grinned. “You really do make the best bread.”
We stood on the sidewalk, just the two of us, while the world behind the café moved in slow motion.
I pointed at the SUVs. “Busy day?”
He shrugged, more relaxed than ever. “Saturdays are for family. Meetings, stuff I can’t pawn off on anyone else.”
I tried to picture him in a business suit, shuffling paperwork, and almost laughed. “You’re not what I expected.”
He looked at me for a second, his eyes doing that intense thing again. “Neither are you.”
He reached into the basket, pulled out a muffin, and took a huge bite. “Perfect,” he said, mouth full.
We both laughed. For a second, it felt like there was no past, no failed marriage, no car troubles—just this moment.
“I’ll bring the basket back Monday?” he offered.
“Only if you bring coffee to go with it.”
He nodded. “Deal.”
A beat passed, and then the radio on his belt buzzed. He glanced at it, then at me. “I gotta run. But thanks, Caroline. Really.”
He headed back to the alley, basket in hand, as the last of the suits vanished inside.
I watched him disappear, then started walking home, smiling like an idiot.
Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe everyone had family business.
But there was something about the way those men looked at Noah, the way they deferred to him, that made me wonder if I was the only one in this city who didn’t know his whole story.
I decided I liked it that way. For now.