Page 40 of Craving

Frankie blinked. “Cute,” he said.

“Cute?” Camilla nearly vibrated with rage. “Get the discharge papers. Now.”

Frankie seemed to grow where he stood, like the Hulk about to burst through his clothes. He took one single step closer, and it took all of Camilla’s self-control not to back up toward the exit.

“Do not,” Frankie said, low and menacing, “do not tell me what to do. You owe me a thousand dollars right now. Jason will write you a receipt, and you’ll be back in three weeks to pay the rest. Understood?”

Years of stress and instability and loneliness pressed down on Camilla—and she fought back. Her spine straightened. “No,” she growled. “This ends now.”

“The only way this ends is when you give me the money you owe me, Ms. Fox.”

Gritting her teeth, Camilla fought to stay calm. “I won’t. I’ll take you to court. I will fight this, and you will leave me alone.”

Frankie blinked, then smiled. “Then what? You sue me, and your name gets splashed all over the town news channels. Your story gets shared all over social media, and all of Stirling knows that Dean Fox’s little girl got herself in trouble with big bad Frankie Smith. What do you think your daddy will say when he finds out? Hmm?”

Camilla trembled, blinking rapidly. Was she ready to fight Frankie in the open? Could she face her family afterward?

They didn’t know about the loan. They didn’t know she’d taken money from this slimy, unscrupulous dirtbag. How could she look her father in the eyes if he found out? How could she endure monthly dinners with her family if she was brought even lower by this new, shameful fight?

She’d taken the loan. She’d signed the contract and initialed every page. Her mistake would be aired out for the whole town to see. Could she handle that?

“I don’t care what my father says,” she told Frankie, but her voice wavered.

Frankie let her stew in her discomfort for a few long moments. Then he shook his head in mock concern. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t come here today, Ms. Fox. I’m going to forgive you for not giving me the payment that was due today. I’m a nice guy,” he told her, “so I’ll let these things go. But if you don’t give me every dollar you owe me, I will drag your family’s name through the mud. Your father won’t even let you through the front door of his beautiful mansion in the hills, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Camilla said nothing, because no, she didn’t want that. She’d reached out to her family. She’d been trying to reconcile with them. Was she ready to throw that away? Was she ready to have her reputation ruined?

Frankie knew the answers to those questions. He scoffed at her and waved a hand toward the door at her back. “Get out of my sight.”

She wanted to fight. She wanted to rage. She wanted to pummel Frankie with her fists until he promised to leave her alone.

But she thought of all the townspeople who had come to her bakery after the broken window, and how they’d sympathized with her, supported her. What would they think if they knew she owed money to a scummy loan shark? Even if she won the court case, would her business survive? What if her parents disowned her? Spoke ill of her? Would her business survive that?

She couldn’t lose the bakery. It was her life’s work, the only thing that made all her mistakes worthwhile. She’d left the family fold to create this business on her own. She’d learned hard lessons, fought to stand on her own two feet.

Camilla wasn’t strong enough to risk that for the sake of ten thousand dollars’ worth of extortion. Failure tasted like burnt coffee, bitter, horrible. She turned around and walked away, feeling Frankie’s gaze on her back the whole time.

She wasn’t strong enough to fight. Her choices were to either come up with the money or lose her business, whether or not Frankie took it from her. The Sweetest Thing wouldn’t survive a smear campaign—and Camilla wasn’t sure she would, either.

By the time Friday evening rolled around again, Marlon felt like he was balancing on a razor’s edge. All week, early mornings had been full of anticipation: He’d either walk into the kitchen and see Camilla sipping her coffee at the table or feel the tiny pang of disappointment if he found the room empty. When he was the first one awake, he’d wait to hear the first creak of the floorboards upstairs and make sure the coffee in the pot was fresh.

Days had been spent working and wondering if Camilla needed anything at the bakery, then lambasting himself for acting like a schoolboy with a crush on the pretty girl in his class.

Evenings, though, were precious. They cooked together, watched TV together, exchanged anecdotes about their days. Camilla would bring him baked treats from her shop, small offerings that made his heart feel full.

He admired her skill every time he bit into one of her creations. She’d explain the tweaks she’d made to the recipe and the flavor combinations she’d chosen. She’d smile whenever he made noises of appreciation, like he was the one who’d just given her a gift and not the other way around.

After their interlude in the kitchen, it was almost torture to go through the week like that. He craved her like a man dying of thirst who needed just a mouthful of water to survive. He listened for the telltale buzz coming from her room in the evenings and mornings and couldn’t resist the temptation to join her in ecstasy every time.

His house became a temple of hunger. Desire hung heavy in the air as they circled each other, exchanging brief, casual touches and lingering glances. One evening, she fell asleep with her feet in his lap and Marlon felt like he’d won the lottery.

That Friday evening, there was a strange light in her eyes, but she just shook her head when he asked her if anything was going on. He wondered if something had happened, or if she just needed some time off. He wished he had the right to ask. The right to fix it. But she said a soft goodnight and didn’t look him in the eyes when she left the room to go to bed.

On Saturday morning, he woke early and started the coffee machine. He prepped their supplies for the final coat of paint in the living room, poking his head out when he heard her footsteps on the stairs.

She was sleep-mussed and beautiful, wrapped in a plaid flannel bathrobe, and all of a sudden Marlon realized he was falling in love. The thought was a quiet certainty in his mind, and he didn’t have time to react to it.

Camilla had blown into his world like a cool breeze on a summer’s day, showing him all the ways she could make his life better. He never wanted to let her go.

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