Page 34 of Lost in the Moonlight

“I’m here. But I have to go.”

“I’m sending you the artist’s contact information. Do yourself a favor, and take a look at her work.”

“Fine.”

“Was it really that hard to agree?” she asked with a snark to her voice that had no real bite.

“Everything with you is hard work.”

“You love me for it.”

“Love. Hate. It’s a toss-up.”

She snorted and hung up on me. Two seconds later, the contact information came through. I was tempted to look the artist up and see what the big deal was, but I also respected Lyrica’s opinion. If she said I had to see the paintings in person, then I would.

I moved to the front window, watching the doors of The Tea Spot as I dialed the artist’s number and left a message.

Willow would be off soon. My pulse picked up at just the thought of seeing her again. A day ago, I hadn’t wanted anything to do with relationships and women while I was settling in here and ridding myself of ghosts, but none of that seemed important anymore.

I craved more of that sweetness. Of her.

But what if my wanting more was the reason something ugly showed up at her door?

I’d never forgive myself. I’d been part of the reason the stalker had hunted Leya. And while I hadn’t been the reason Lyrica had been shot in a convenience store holdup, I also hadn’t been there when she needed me. I’d been off with Sienna’s parents. While trying to satisfy one penance, I’d added another wrong I’d needed to right on top of it.

But maybe with the resources at my disposal, with the people I knew, I could help Willow. Maybe I could find out what and who she was afraid of and make it disappear just like I could keep Poco away by simply letting him know someone was standing at her side.

Maybe this time, I could actually stop something evil before it struck another person I cared about.

Chapter Twelve

Willow

SO SMALL

Performed by Carrie Underwood

I was just finishing the cleaningwhen Hector came into the kitchen and asked, “Can you make samples of the miniatures for us to hand out tomorrow?”

When I’d shown him the piece I’d created, he’d beamed at me. And when I’d given him samples of each treat and he’d savored them with eyes closed, happiness and pride had shimmered through me, radiating outward like rays of the sun bursting through the clouds and sending the panic and fear of the morning further away.

After tasting each one, Hector had hurried to the pastry case and rearranged everything so he could place the mosaic dead center. I’d felt just as I’d thought I would—like a kid whose parent had pinned their art to the refrigerator. But then customers had started oohing and ahhing over it, and asking him if he’d created it, and how they could sample the treats, and the tension had eased.

“I’ll make as many as I can tonight.” I smiled up at him, heart light once more. The thought of not just making Hector’s family recipes but my own was a dream come true. It was another box to mark off in my journal. Maybe I really would give people something to remember. Something that fed their souls as well as their bellies.

“Once people try the samples, they’re going to come in specifically for them, so you’ll need to make even more tomorrow night.”

My smile widened, pleasure growing, not only at Hector’s faith in me but at the idea of people showing up for something I’d created. I itched to not only bake more of the treats I’d used in this piece but to get started on a whole new vision.

When I told him as much, his brows went up. “If we changed the display each week, we could feature whichever dessert was most prominent. We could call it the Edible Art of the Week or something. I’ll have Shay help me with a catchy tagline.”

I tossed my apron and towel in the hamper before spinning around to hug him. He seemed startled, not because I’d never done it before, but by the pure force of it. He returned my embrace with a squeeze that filled my eyes with triumphant tears. When I pulled back, his grin matched mine—large and bright.

“Thank you for believing in me,” I said.

“The desserts are tiny pieces of heaven. Myabuelitawould’ve been very jealous. I knew you were talented from the day I hired you and you criticized my chocolate scones, telling me exactly what was missing.”

I was embarrassed by how cheeky I’d been that day. I hadn’t meant my comment as an insult. I’d truly just been talking aloud more than tearing apart his grandmother’s recipe. But Hectorhad only laughed and then added the cardamom I’d suggested without even blinking.

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