Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Caroline
I wanted to surprise Noah.
It was a rare morning when I woke up early, rolled dough, and baked cinnamon rolls while the city was still wrapped in fog.
The scent made the whole apartment feel like childhood—warm, full of sugar and hope.
I packed up a dozen, even arranged them in a box with a handwritten note.
But when I got to Massimo’s, I stopped cold.
Two black SUVs were parked at the curb, the kind with mirrored windows that made it impossible to see who was inside. There were men in suits, dark sunglasses, earpieces. They flanked the door, scanning the street, and nodded at each other when they spotted me.
I almost turned around, but one of them smiled. “Are you here for Mr. Massimo?”
I nodded, hugging the box to my chest.
He opened the door for me, and I slipped inside. The café was empty except for Noah, who stood at the espresso machine, sleeves rolled, looking unruffled as ever.
The men followed me in, fanned out along the walls, eyes forward, silent.
Noah looked up, face breaking into that perfect, private smile. “You made these?”
I nodded, trying not to stare at the bodyguards. “Yeah. I thought you might want a change from cannoli.”
He set down the milk pitcher, walked over, and kissed me on the cheek. “They smell incredible.”
He turned to the men. “Give us a minute?”
They left as quietly as they’d arrived.
I set the box on the counter, fidgeting. “What’s with the secret service?”
He laughed, too relaxed. “Corporate security. Things have been tense lately—competitors, city inspections, you know how it is.”
I didn’t. Nobody had ever sent goons to guard my bCarolinena bread.
But I nodded, pretending it was normal.
He poured us coffee, sat me at a table, and made me taste the cinnamon rolls first. They were perfect—soft, gooey, sweet enough to make my teeth ache.
We talked for half an hour, but I couldn’t stop glancing out the window, watching the SUVs, the way the men never stopped scanning.
He noticed. “Don’t let them bother you. They’re only here for a few days.”
I tried to let it go, but something in my chest squeezed tight.
I’d always known there was more to Noah than coffee and charity. But seeing it like this—so exposed, so official—it made me realize just how little I really understood about his world.
After coffee, he walked me out, arm around my shoulders, the guards trailing at a polite distance.
I wanted to ask about the cars, the men, what they were really guarding against.
But instead, I just said, “Be careful.”
He kissed my forehead, smile softer now. “Always am.”
I went home, the scent of cinnamon still on my hands, and sat at the window with a mug of coffee, watching the street.
The SUVs stayed until dark.
So did my curiosity.
I didn’t know what was coming, but I knew I wanted to stand beside Noah—no matter what.
Caroline
The next time Noah said he had a surprise, I freaking braced myself.
He picked me up after lunch, the security detail trailing a few cars behind. We drove past the old bakery, now gutted and stripped, to a corner lot I’d never noticed before.
He parked, then led me inside.
It was chaos—construction workers everywhere, tile half-finished, sawdust swirling in the air. In the middle of it all, a foreman barked orders over the whine of a sander.
But there, taped to the window, was a set of blueprints with “Caroline’s Kitchen” printed across the top.
I stared at it, breath caught in my throat.
Noah squeezed my hand, then pulled me forward.
The foreman came over, grinning. “Boss said you were the new owner. Want to see the kitchen?”
He walked me through, showing off the open counter, the racks for bread, the sunlit space for customers to linger. Every detail matched what I’d told Noah weeks before.
I turned to him, overwhelmed. “This is too much. I can’t—”
He put a finger to my lips, soft but insistent. “You can. And you will.”
“But the money—” I started, but he cut me off.
“I’m not giving you a business,” he said. “I’m giving you a chance. That’s what everyone deserves.”
The words stuck. I looked around, really looked, and saw what he meant.
The workers treated me like a boss, asking my opinion, showing respect.
It felt…possible.
Noah took me outside, where we sat on the steps with takeaway coffees, watching the world spin past.
“You believe in this?” I asked, voice trembling.
He smiled, eyes never leaving mine. “More than anything.”
I blinked hard, fighting tears. “Thank you. I don’t even know how to—”
He leaned over, kissed me, gentle but full of promise.
“Just say yes,” he whispered.
I nodded, heart thundering.
For the first time in my life, I wanted to say yes to everything.
To risk. To hope. To loving someone so much it hurt.
We sat there until the sun dipped behind the buildings, talking about tile colors and oven sizes and what to name the signature cinnamon roll.
And when I closed my eyes, I saw a future—mine, for once—shining and real.
Noah had given me more than a bakery.
He’d given me a reason to believe in myself.
And I promised, silently, to never let go of that again.