Page 30 of Saving His Sunshine

My heart sinks. “You think it’s the same person.”

“We have to consider the possibility.”

God. I’m so stupid. All this time, I told myself it wasn’t that serious. That they were just harmless notes. But this isn’t harmless. This is violent. It’s dangerous.

“Any idea who is behind the notes, Heidi?” Dillon asks.

“I… No.” I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

Dillon nods, looking like he expected that. “Who would benefit from you closing up shop?”

I think about it for a long moment. “Peter Guidry, Aspen Diamante, and Aaron Sims, maybe?” Peter is the pastry chef at the Broadway Steakhouse—the only place in town that currently has anything resembling a bakery, aside from the coffee shop. Aaron owns the donut shop. And Aspen owns the coffee shop. “But Aspen is best friends with Leia. Their husbands are practically attached at the hip. There’s no way she would do this.”

“I think we can rule her out as a suspect,” Dillon agrees. “She’s all for the bakery. What about Peter and Aaron? Have you had any problems with either of them?”

I shake my head and then bite my lip. “Well, maybe? Aaron wasn’t thrilled when he found out I was opening a bakery. But Aaron isn’t ever thrilled about anything new in town. He swears everything new is going to run him out of business.”

Dillon snorts as if he’s well acquainted with the man’s complaints. “What about Peter?”

“The bakery will be in direct competition with the bakery portion of the Steakhouse,” I mumble. “He was a little bent out of shape about having competition, but that was weeks ago.”

“Anyone else?”

I wrack my brain, trying to think of anyone, but come up with nothing. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No one.”

Dillon nods, sharing a look with Alessandro. “We’ll look into Peter and Aaron and see what we come up with.”

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” I ask, looking around at the mess again. “I don’t…I can’t…” Tears well in my eyes. “Look at this place.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Dillon reaches out, squeezing my hand. “Call your insurance to get it sorted. We’ll do whatever we canto help in the meantime. I promise you; this bakery is going to open.”

“We’ll see,” I whisper sadly.

He and Alessandro share another look over my head. And I just…can’t be here anymore. Not right now.

“Am I done here? Can I go? Please?”

“Yeah,” Dillon says, his voice soft. “You can go. I’ll call Alessandro when we’re finished here, okay?”

I bob my head in a nod, already rushing toward the door, afraid if I don’t get out now, I’m going to fall apart again. And I can’t do that. Not here, not now. Whoever did this has already taken everything from me that I’m willing to let them take. They don’t get to take my dignity, too.

Chapter Eight

Alessandro

The broken pieces of Heidi’s glittery porcelain countertop are heavy as a motherfucker as Dacen, Tony Gordon, and Banks Phoenix, the Deputy Chief, help me carry it out of the bakery early the next morning. Glass shards litter the floor, crunching under our boots as we navigate around the tables and chairs tossed around like a fucking hurricane swept through.

The sunlight streaming in through the gaping holes where the windows used to be mock me with the illusion that this is justanother perfect day. But it's not. Some fucking asshole broke in here last night and trashed my girl's dream.

Rage simmers in my gut at the reminder. Heidi barely said two words once I got her home last night. Instead, she curled into a tiny ball on my chest and cried herself to sleep. It about fucking killed me.

I didn’t sleep. I was too pissed. Before the sun even rose, I put out the call to my crew, determined to get this shit cleaned up before she had to see any more of the mess. The guys showed up at the asscrack of dawn, prepared to help.

Evan Whitcomb and Bodie Jinks are currently sweeping up glass. Devon Allegra and Emmett Madden are helping the window repair guys measure for new glass. Slowly but surely, the devastation is disappearing. But it’s not enough.

We place the broken countertop in the back of Dacen’s truck for him to haul down to his uncle’s shop. I don’t know if it can be fixed, but his uncle is willing to try for us.

“We’ll get this over to Dacen’s uncle,” Banks mutters, holding out his fist for me to bump. “Back soon.”

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