Page 17 of Sugar Coated Secrets

She grins. “Well, you should.”

I look up like I didn’t hear her. “Should what?”

This town is full of gossip about shit that’s nobody’s business. Katie thinks she is playing matchmaker, but she has no idea how evil the people here are. If they want to keep you quiet, they will. They’re all liars, and you can’t trust anyone.

I had my heart in my throat the whole time Danny and Ford were both here, having a silent stare off like two wild animals ready to fight.

One man wants me to be someone I can’t, and the other is the reason I can’t be that person.

I couldn’t help the feeling of fear and anxiety churning in my stomach. I didn’t plan on giving Danny all that food. It was supposed to be a homemade bagel and a coffee.

Four years ago, I fell for their little game and paid for it in blood. Does he know what his friends did to me? He had to be a part of it somehow, right? How else did they get my number?

The truth is, I want to put it past me, but as much as I try, I can never seem to stop hating him.

Ford shows up in my dreams, nightmares, and now my bakery. Since he left, I try to avoid seeing or hearing about him as much as possible. I ignored him on the news. Changed the channel when any of his races would pop up. I tried to tell myself he was just another celebrity on social media and TV. A person you know based on what they did in front of the world.

I don’t know why he’s come back, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s not to apologize to me or try to make amends.

“He’s been around,” Katie says, scrolling through her phone. “Models, socialites, fans. Different women. Different countries.”

“Good to know. I’ll make sure I don’t touch him with my hands.”

“Why not?” she asks with a smile, her voice lifting at the edges, but her eyes tell me she is curious to know why.

My head snaps up, and I meet eyes the color of blue glass not realizing Ford walked inside. Ignoring the way my insides flip every time he looks at me.

“I wouldn’t want to catch anything,” I say, playing it cool.

Ford smiles, causing my heart to race. “I’m clean.”

“If you say so. What would you like to order? I’m running behind,” I say impatiently.

“Are you working on something new?”

“No,” I say a little too quickly.

I always am, but I’m not doing this with him right now. It’s been so long since I’ve been near him, and I don’t know how I feel about it. I’ve played out scenarios in my mind if he ever came back, and this wasn’t it. How is it possible that he looks better than yesterday? Muscle and tattoos, eyes bluer, and his cologne more exotic. My pulse quickens at the undeniable wave of attraction. But then, disgust follows, like a shadow creeping behind me.

I hoped he would have forgotten me or at least given me the courtesy to stay away. That he would’ve taken the hint yesterday and realized he wasn’t welcome here. Maybe call and cancel his order. But he didn’t. He made sure I was aware of him like he did in high school. He could be in any room, out of sight, and I could feel his stare mocking me.

“How about a bagel and those macarons?” he orders with a gleam in his eye.

“You know you could head over to Betty’s diner,” I say sharply. “She is still in business. Get a full breakfast.”

Everyone here is still in business, and from what I’ve learned, if they look the other way and keep their mouth shut, it will stay that way.

He leans in, his eyes scanning my face. “I like your cookies,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’m sure everything else you make is just as good. Maybe even better than anything I can find in this town.”

“Macarons are originally from Italy. I’m sure they taste better over there.”

He has raced for Lamborghini. That was the magazine I couldn’t help seeing in the checkout line at the grocery store. The town of Airy's own celebrity hero.

He smiles. “I’ve had them, but your cookies are better. Pretty sure everything of yours is better. I want to taste it all.”

He’s clearly talking about more than my baked goods, but I’m not playing his stupid game.

“Alright, I have bagels, macarons, banana nut bread?—”

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