Page 24 of Forbidden Love

“Only if you don’t judge me for stealing one,” Deb said with a weak grin, trying to shake off the tangle of emotions still rolling through her.

Clair grinned. “I saved you a corner brownie.”

That made Deb smile. “You know me well.”

Clair grinned and nodded to the tray. “Can you plate a few? There’s a steady stream of sugar-starved customers, and Linda and Darla are in rare form tonight.”

“Wonderful.” Deb rolled her eyes and grabbed a spatula like it was her weapon of choice. “Got any whiskey to go with this brownie?”

Clair chuckled. “It’d take a whole damn bottle to deal with those two.”

Deb huffed in agreement, slicing into the still-warm brownies as the scent of chocolate filled the air. Comforting, familiar… a distraction she needed.

“They were asking about Brock,” Clair said, stirring a bowl of frosting. “Linda’s already got her claws out. Said somethingabout how he ‘looked like a man who needed a real woman.’” She made air quotes and wrinkled her nose.

Deb’s stomach twisted, and not from hunger. “Shocker.” Deb snorted with a frown.

Clair glanced her way with a disgusted look. “She’s got that look—you know, the one she gets when she’s picked her next project.”

Deb recognized that look all too well—like a cat eyeing its next meal. Linda always had a way of locking onto a man with laser precision, staking a silent claim before the poor guy even knew what hit him. Deb herself had only done that with Garrett. Her insides churned, thinking of how awful she had been toward Janna. God, she had been so evil.

“He doesn’t need that kind of attention,” Deb mumbled more to herself as she pressed the spatula a little too hard into the brownies, the edge digging into the pan.

Clair raised a brow, observing her. “Mmm. Sounds like someone’s a little protective.”

Deb shot her a dry look, trying to downplay the sudden heat in her cheeks. “I just think Linda’s exhausting, that’s all. The poor guy hasn’t been here long. He should at least have a grace period before she throws herself at him like a drunken prom queen.”

Clair snorted, barely hiding her grin. “You’re not wrong.”

Deb sighed and leaned on the counter, watching the swirl of frosting smooth out under Clair’s expert hand. “It’s just… he’s not the kind of guy who plays around. You can tell. He’s quiet. Steady. The kind that actually listens when you talk. Men like that are rare.”

There was a pause, and when Deb glanced up, Clair was watching her with a softness that made her feel a little too seen.

“You like him,” Clair said gently.

Deb’s mouth opened, but no words came out. So, instead, she scoffed, reaching for a plate to cover the awkward silence. “I like brownies.” She countered, revealing nothing. Emily had told her today while they waited for the pregnancy test results, that Brock had been asking Hunter questions about her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Clair chuckled but didn’t press; she just smiled as she handed her the frosted tray. “Well, then, go share the love… but try not to kill Linda with kindness or throw the brownies like ninja blades.”

Deb grinned, but under her smile was a thread of tension she couldn’t quite shake. She wasn’t ready to name what she was feeling—not yet. But she knew it wasn’t nothing. But as she pushed through the door and back into the café, brownies in hand her mind played visions of snatching Linda bald if she went near Brock. Holy shit, she was in serious trouble.

Her smile was locked and loaded like armor. Spotting Linda and Darla still there, had her cursing under her breath again. They were draped in fake friendliness like it was designer couture—shiny on the outside, shady as hell underneath.

“Well, if it isn’t the talk of the town,” Linda said sweetly, folding her manicured hands over her coffee cup. “How have you been, Deborah? I haven’t talked to you for a while. Have you been avoiding me?”

If she only knew, Deb thought, biting back the smirk that threatened to rise as she arched a brow and set the tray ofbrownies down behind the counter. She could already feel the storm brewing, the familiar prickle of tension curling around her spine.

“Peachy, Linda. You?” she replied, voice sweet as honey but edged with steel. She didn’t give Linda the reaction she was fishing for—no way. Deb had played that game before, and she’d played it better.

Linda’s grin was all smug satisfaction as she rose from her chair and sauntered toward the counter, her ever-present sidekick trailing behind her like a shadow. “Not as good as you, apparently,” she said, eyes gleaming with false innocence. “Heard that handsome new stranger was fighting over you. What’s his name again… Brock?”

Deb’s hand faltered for a moment before she slammed the display case door shut, the sound sharp and final. No. She wasn’t doing this. Not with Linda. Not today. Not ever again.

“The brownies are fresh,” she said, voice clipped as she straightened, pasting on a smile so stiff it hurt. “Can I get you one?”

Linda’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing just enough to betray the flicker of irritation she tried to mask. She smoothed the expression over with a practiced, sugary grin. “No, thanks,” she said coolly, waving off the brownie. Her voice was polite, but her eyes told a different story—sharp, probing, laced with something darker. “So, how well do you know?—”

“I don’t.” Deb cut her off, her voice low and firm, shutting the door on that conversation before it had a chance to open. Her gaze didn’t waver, her stance unyielding. She wasn’t playing.

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