Page 10 of Craving

A starburst of broken glass marred the front of Camilla’s bakery, right through the cartoon cupcake that made up her logo. Above the cupcake, The Sweetest Thing was written in an arc of swooping letters on the window, cheery and bright and broken.

Camilla stepped out of Marlon’s car—he’d insisted on coming, then insisted on driving, and Camilla had been too frazzled to refuse—and stared at the destruction. Her chest ached as if one of those jagged pieces of glass had pierced her breastbone. She rubbed the spot and worked her throat until it felt like she could speak, but no words came out.

The air was cold, winter nipping at the edges of the autumn wind. An overcast sky was draped over their heads, casting the whole scene in dull, gray gloom.

Then the bakery door opened. Ben appeared, concern lining his features. “Hey, Camilla. The cops are here.”

Marlon appeared at her side and put his hand on her lower back. She shouldn’t draw comfort from that touch, but she did. How could she not, when he was so strong and solid beside her? He guided her inside, then nodded to the two police officers speaking to the baker she’d hired to take the early shift.

“Didn’t hear nothing,” Daniel said, shrugging. He was a big man with baker’s biceps and strong shoulders. “Got here about three-thirty, been in the kitchen the whole time.”

“And you didn’t think to call us when you saw the glass?”

“I park out back,” Daniel said, jabbing his thumb. “Don’t come out here at all. Didn’t see it until Ben came into work.”

One of the cops—the taller one—nodded. “Okay.” He glanced at Camilla. “You’re the owner?”

Camilla still felt wobbly. She nodded. “Yes.”

“What time did you leave yesterday?”

“It was my best friend’s wedding. I came by to pick up the cake about ten o’clock in the morning.”

“I was here until four-thirty,” Ben interjected.

The tall police officer nodded. He had thick, dark hair and a beaky nose. His partner was a woman with a slicked-back bun, her thumbs hooked into her utility belt. She nodded to Marlon. “St. James. You got a system up on this building?”

Camilla frowned. Huh?

Marlon shook his head. “Not yet. I’ll set one up this week.”

“You’ll do what?”

Marlon still had his hand on Camilla’s back. He squeezed her waist ever so slightly. “You don’t have security cameras, do you?”

She frowned at him. That’s right; he worked in private security. Amelia had told her that a few months ago. “No. But Marlon, I can’t afford to hire you to put up a security system here. I…I just can’t.”

She could barely afford to get the window fixed. By her calculations, if she got four more custom cake orders, she could just about come up with a security deposit and moving expenses on a dingy studio apartment, assuming daily sales stayed steady and she didn’t have any surprise expenses. But the window would cost hundreds to fix. A security system on top of that?

She’d have to mooch off Marlon’s hospitality for a lot longer than she’d expected.

Her heart beat unsteadily.

Marlon’s hand swept up to her shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t worry about it, Camilla.”

“Oh, ‘don’t worry about it,’” she snarked. “Sure. Easy. No problem. My business is going to incur thousands of dollars of expenses that I can’t afford, but sure, I just won’t worry about it.”

Marlon’s jaw clenched. “I’ll give you a discount.”

“Unless that discount is a hundred percent, the answer is no.”

She was being rude. Camilla knew it, but she couldn’t stop. Marlon was trying to do a nice thing, and he barely knew her. She should be jumping at the chance. Still—she couldn’t afford it. Was it really ridiculous to have a budget? She’d just cleared her debt. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours!

Camilla prided herself on her independence. The loan had been a necessary evil, and now it was over. She couldn’t accept another man’s help without knowing what kind of strings would be attached. That would be like taking two giant steps back on her path to true stability.

The police officers watched the exchange with raised eyebrows, then pulled Camilla aside and asked a few more questions. They gave her a case number and told her how she could get a copy of the police report for her insurance claim.

She nodded, trying her best to keep her grip on her sanity. The tinkling of broken glass drew her attention to the window, where Ben was sweeping up the shards. Marlon had procured gloves from his car, and he was knocking out the pieces that were still stuck in the frame.

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