Page 73 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“Him,” she says, looking at me with a raised brow. “What you want him to do to you.”

“I don’t want him to do anything to me.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not…”

“Your cheeks get red when you lie, and you keep recounting how many pieces of cake go on each tray. You’ve been on the same tray since we started talking about sex.”

She isn’t wrong. I’ve counted the same tray three times.

When it comes to Ford, I can't think. I’ve tried so hard to forget him. To accept the kiss the other night as a one-off. I’m sure he kisses plenty of women.

The pictures in the tabloids don’t lie. All anyone can have for me is pity.

“I think about a lot of things.”

Her smile falls, and it’s like we almost forgot what happened with old man Moody.

But it did happen.

“You think we should call Danny and tell him?” she asks.

“I’m not sure it matters if we do or don’t. We weren’t supposed to be there. If anything, it’s like what Ford said—we were on his land, knocking on his front door, and he was inside his house.”

“He’s disgusting,” she says, scrunching her nose. “I hope he rots inside that shithole out there in the woods.”

“I agree.”

“I think we should report it.” She glances at me, revealing her fear. “Not that Moody would seek us out or try anything, but maybe he was involved somehow, and they could investigate. You know,” she says like she just thought of something. “Did the police ever say they questioned him or that someone lived close by?”

I shake my head, furrowing my brow. “No. Now that I think of it, no. No one ever mentioned anyone living out there. If it hadn’t been for the van leaving me stranded and having to call the tow truck, I would have never found out about him. It’s not like he goes out much. I didn’t know who he was.”

Maybe Danny might know more. He would have told me if Moody had anything to do with it. He would have questioned him that night or the next day, right?

“I think you should ask Danny,” she says before leaving.

After Katie leaves and I lock up, I call Danny to meet me outside the bakery before I head home.

After twenty minutes, I hear a car pull up and peer out the window to see the familiar headlights shut off.

I open the door as he gets out of his truck.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, his brows knitting together.

“Are you off today?”

He nods, and I feel guilty for bothering him. “I’m sorry, Danny. I thought you were working.” I fidget with my fingers, thinking about what Moody said and how to tell him.

His expression softens. “Don’t be sorry, Dulce. You know you can call me anytime, and I’ll come.”

“Thank you.”

I sigh even though I’m conflicted. The concern settles in my stomach, and I tell him what happened.

“Why would you do that, Dulce?” he scolds with a disapproving frown. “Are you insane? With Katie? You could’ve called me.”

This is why I didn’t want to tell him. Why I didn’t want to call him. He would have talked me out of it, and I needed to see for myself. Deep down, I was tired of being scared and not knowing.

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