Page 64 of How Sweet It Is

She sits up and wraps her arms around her knees, looking out at the horizon, where the sky bleeds into the ocean. She’s silent for a few beats, and I sit up next to her.

“You’re right,” she says at last. “There is a wall.”

I wait.

“I didn’t build it because I wanted to shut you out.” Her voice is quiet. “I built it because I was trying to survive.”

I take in this information. “Is Claire your real name?”

She swallows then nods.

“And Amelia?”

“A name I chose for… protection.”

The words are barely above a whisper.

I move closer to her, closing the distance between us. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my chest. “Did someone hurt you?” I whisper in her ear. My heart climbs into my throat, not wanting to know if the answer is yes. If some guy hurt her, I’m going to go ballistic.

“No.” Relief courses through me as she stares out at the ocean waves. “But I saw something. Something terrible. And the person who did it, he’s dangerous. I’m here so I’ll be safe until the trial. No one’s supposed to know who I really am.”

My spit dries up. “And telling me would break the rules.”

She nods.

“Claire,” I whisper, testing the name. Surprisingly, it suits her. I pull her closer to me and kiss the top of her head. “I would never put you in danger.”

“I know,” she says quickly. “That’s not it. I trust you. But if anyone found out?—”

“They won’t. I swear.” I give her hand a squeeze. “It stays with me.”

We sit in silence again, our fingers laced, her back pressed against me so tightly I’m sure she can feel my heart pounding. The stars above us multiply, growing brighter by the minute. I should say something charming or clever, maybe tease her about using a fake name. But the words feel too shallow for this moment.

“So, you’re not from Kansas?”

She shakes her head. “No. Cincinnati.”

“And your parents don’t own a grocery.”

“No.”

“But they do have a business?” I probe, my thumb grazing her thumb.

“A flower shop.”

I can see Claire working with flowers. She even added some to her photos of my pastries. That totally fits her.

“Can you tell me what you saw?” I ask quietly.

“The company I was hired to do the books for was a front. I found this out and went straight to the police. They asked if I would continue to work there for a little while, to gather evidence. So that’s what I did. But late one night, my boss came in manhandling another employee. I hid so I could see what he was doing.”

She pauses, and I pull her close so she feels safe. “What happened?”

“He shot him,” she says, her voice tight. “Right in front of me.”

Terror rips through me. “That’s awful.”

She nods. “It was. I gasped, and they saw me, but I ran and got away. The feds put me in protective custody right away. I’m the only one who’s witnessed his brutality firsthand and lived to talk about it. I can put him away for a long time if I testify.”

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