Page 82 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“Fair enough.”

“The wait for the building is over. Why don’t you tell him?”

I take a deep breath, letting a heavy sigh leave my chest. Ahead, the bakery grows larger on an empty street. Snow covers the sidewalk and the rooftops, while the holiday-themed lights twinkle in red and green on every streetlamp and above every window. Gosh, I love this festive glow.

“I’m scared,” I tell Eva. “I don’t know how he’ll react.”

“Cora, Sebastian is going to be a father. He’s already working hard with Waylan and Riggs to keep Dario. He obviously likes kids. I think he’ll be happy.”

“You think?”

“I’m sure. Has Sebastian given you any reason to doubt him?”

I shake my head. “No, but we haven’t really talkedabout the future, either. We were so focused on the escrow, waiting for their Urban Parkour campaign to launch, for the holidays to pass. There’s been too much in front of us.”

“Well, losing the bakery is no longer an issue,” she chuckles softly. “And that’s also thanks to Sebastian and the guys. Come on, Cora, chin up. Let’s figure out the best way to tell him about the baby while we get these last few orders out of the way, okay?”

We pull over in front of the bakery. I look out through the window, noting something is off.

My instincts immediately flare.

“Hold on,” I mumble, then open the door and get out of the car. “There’s a window missing.”

“What?” Eva gasps and joins me.

Our bakery has been vandalized—worse than before. Not one, but two of the large front windows have been smashed. Inside,the tables and chairs are knocked over. The new pastry displays are cracked but not shattered. Sugar and glass is everywhere. Paper napkins and smashed syrup dispensers cover the floor. I think I’m going to be sick.

“Good Lord,” I hear Eva mumble.

I follow her gaze. I hadn’t even noticed it at first, the giant red spray-painted slur covering the entire wall behind the counter.

“WHORE,” I read the word aloud, shaken to the core. “I… Oh, God, I’m going to puke.”

I rush to the side and damn near dive into a pile of shoveled snow, breaking into a cold sweat as I let it all out. The horror, the shame, the grief— they come crashing into me, turning my skin into a thin layer of ice while my insides boil with fury.

Eva doesn’t move, silently weeping as she shifts her focus between me and the destruction of our bakery. Minutes pass in the most awkward silence.

I have no thoughts. Nothing smart or reasonable to say. I only have anger and outrage, exhaustion and frustration. And so much fear and shame because whoever wrote that on the wall—they know.

Where do we go from here?

“This is unbelievable,” Eva finally says.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my jacket sleeve and look at her. She’s staring at the destruction, grief glimmering in her wide eyes. Her lower lip quivers. I feel her pain because it mirrors mine. They did this to hurt us and they succeeded. They wanted to wreck us. When will it stop?

“I don’t understand,” I reply. “The place is ours. They can’t take it away from us.”

“It’s purely out of spite,” my sister shrugs, growing visibly disgusted. “Simple fucking spite. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“We have to report this. I’m calling the sheriff—” I’m about to take my phone out, but Eva stops me with a bitter laugh.

“He’s as spineless as they come, Cora. Foreman won’t lift a finger against them. He’s already proven that, more than once. No, there’s no point.”

“They didn’t win,” I snap. “We’re the owners now. They can break as many windows as they want, it doesn’t change the fact that we fucking won!”

The sound of approaching footsteps, of boots crunching over the snow, has me turning around just in time to see Orson St. James as he crosses the street and walks over to us with an irritatingly unnatural smile.

“Merry belated Christmas, ladies!”

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