Page 16 of Promise Me

I crane my neck to get a better look.

I bet it's broken.

Maybe she should worry about her current space instead of buying a new one.

I turn to leave again, but my eye catches something else that makes me pause.

Was that?

No.

Why would there be a hand on the floor?

I back up two steps and then squat to look at what my brain told me was a hand.

What is it? Is that—holy fuck!

“Sadie!” I bang on the door. “Sadie!”

I hit it harder, but her hand doesn’t move.

“Sadie!”

My fist is balled now, banging on the door so hard that it begins to rattle.

Screw this. She’s going to be furious with me but fuck it.

I run to the bar, grab the chalkboard sign, and bang it against her glass door until it cracks. Then I kick the glass, barely letting it shatter fully to the ground before I jump through.

I’m at her side in three strides, my heart beating fast, the adrenaline of the moment sending me into fight mode.

“Sadie! Sadie, wake up. Come on, Sadie. Wake up. Yell at me. I just broke your front door. Yell at me, please!”

I don’t want to touch her; there is blood surrounding her head. She looks so pale and innocent, and fuck!

I yank my phone out of my back pocket, calling 911 as I check her pulse.

She has one.

Thank God.

As if the current situation isn’t bad enough, the smell of something burning takes over. As I answer the dispatcher's questions and listen to her instructions, I grab a towel and open the oven, waving the smoke from my face and pulling out whatever is burning. I punch some buttons, probably more than needed, because why does an oven have this many buttons right this fucking second, and turn it off.

The dispatcher assures me that help is on the way, so I sit back down on my heels at Sadie’s side until they arrive. My mind racing, I look around the kitchen to see if there is anything that hints at the cause of this, but all I see are ingredients.

Flour, sugar, eggs, and … lemons.

Shit.

A pinch hits my chest harder than I expect as sirens echo through the front of the bakery.

My stomach starts to turn.

There’s a very good chance I’m the reason the paramedics are placing Sadie on a stretcher.

A still, very unconscious Sadie Collins.

CHAPTER FIVE

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