Page 84 of When Death Whispers

My breath hitches and clogs with emotion, my heart squeezing with something dangerously resembling hope.

The silence shifts—warmer now. Not absence. Something else.

He stayed.

Hewantsto stay.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

A ping sounds from somewhere across the island and Hudson reaches over to grab his phone and check the notification. A little crease forms between his eyes when he frowns, typing something on it in response and curiosity gets the best of me.

“What is it?”

“Donovan needs me to go in tonight. Both Jenna and Betty have booked the night off and no one else can cover the shift.” He looks up at me, like he’s waiting on my input on what he should do.

My heart squeezes in response, the thoughtfulness hitting harder than I would’ve ever expected.

Is this what we have progressed to now? Making decisions together? I’ve never had someone to bounce ideas off of before. It’s… nice.

“I’ll go in with you.”

“You sure? You haven’t had much sleep in the last few days. Even your dreams were not… restful.” He hesitates, his throat bobbing with emotion, and I can’t help but follow the movement and find it oddly… attractive.

“Yeah, I’m tired of waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Besides there’s way more lights at the bakery. The way I see it, if we leave early enough, it’s probably safer there than here anyway.”

Hudson nods, accepting my decision without argument, and types a response back then setting the phone back down to lean back, casually sipping his coffee like he didn’t just rock my entire foundation. “I wasn’t gonna leave, you know.”

I go still.

He says it like it’s nothing. Picks up our conversation where it left off with ease. But to me, it’s everything.

My fingers tighten around the fork, the pressure of it grounding me. I force a scoff. “Who said I thought you were leaving?”

His grin turns smug, amused. “Your face when you walked into the kitchen.”

I glare, half-hearted, and aim a kick at his shin. He dodges, laughing like this is all some kind of game he’s already won.

“Eat your damn pancakes, Hudson.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teases, grin lingering—but the edge has dulled. Something softer lives in his eyes now. Something real.

Something that makes me way too aware of how I’m starting to trust him—and how dangerous that is.

Because trusting him isn’t just a risk for me—it’s a death sentence for him, signed by my monster’s hand. And honestly? The more I let myselfwant, the harder it is to keep finding reasons to push him away.

31

The kitchen is blazing,and it’s not from the ovens—we’ve worked hotter shifts than this in the summer—it’s because ofhim.

Hudson.

My skin prickles every time he brushes past me. Every time he mutters some silly joke under his breath in that low, easy voice just to get a laugh out of me. He moves around the bakery completely at ease, sleeves pushed to his elbows, forearms dusted in flour, looking like he just walked straight off the set of a sexy bakery photoshoot or something.

There’s a sheen of sweat at the hollow of his throat and I can’t stop staring at it.

It’s not fair.

He looks like he’s thriving in this heat—hair damp and tousled, golden skin flushed in all the right places. Meanwhile, I’m pretty sure I look like I’ve been baked alive in one of the ovens. My hair’s a frizzy mess, my shirt clinging in all the wrong places, and my cheeks won’t stop burning.

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