Page 37 of Sweetly Yours

I glance at Willow, who’s sitting on an overturned stool, her arms wrapped around Frankie. She looks up at me, and I see the hesitation in her eyes.

I step closer, crouching in front of her. “Baby,” I say gently. “We need to tell them about Tessa.”

Her lips part, and she shakes her head. “We don’t know it’s her.”

“Who else would it be?” I ask, my voice low but firm. “Who else has a reason to do this?”

She swallows hard, glancing between me and the officers. Finally, she speaks.

“Tessa,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “Brock’s ex. She’s... she’s been causing trouble ever since she showed up at one of his events.”

Harris nods, jotting down the name. “You think she’s capable of something like this?”

“She’s petty enough,” I say, my jaw tight. “She doesn’t like that I’m with Willow, and she’s made that clear.”

“We’ll look into it,” Harris says, his tone measured. “But if she’s behind this, it might not be easy to prove. Do you have any hard evidence linking her to these incidents?”

“Not yet,” I admit, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “But you better believe I’m going to find some.”

Harris exchanges a glance with Denton before closing his notepad. “We’ll do what we can, but be careful. Whoever’s doing this is escalating. If you notice anything else, call us immediately.”

When they leave, the bakery feels even emptier than before. Willow sits on the floor, staring at the destruction, her face pale and drawn.

I crouch in front of her, tipping her chin up so she has to look at me. “You’re not coming back here alone,” I say firmly. “Not until we figure out who’s behind this.”

She nods, her voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll fix this, Willow. You’re not facing this alone.”

Her lips tremble, and she leans into me, her small frame fitting perfectly against mine. I hold her tightly, my mind already racing with plans.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

WILLOW

The bakery feels like a tomb with cops inside taking pictures, dusting for prints. The smell of paint still lingers in the air, sharp and stifling, and every piece of broken glass and spray-painted wall feels like a jab to my chest.

I need air.

Stepping outside, I lean against the brick wall, staring at nothing in particular as the early morning chill bites at my skin. I feel hollow, like someone scooped out everything good and left me with the mess.

Footsteps echo on the pavement, and I turn to see June walking up, her face tight with worry. She must’ve seen the police cars.

“Oh my God,” she says, her voice low as she looks at me and then at the bakery. “What the hell happened?”

“Someone broke in,” I say, my voice flat. “They trashed the place.”

Her eyes widen, and she steps closer, pulling me into a hug. “Willow, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

I nod against her shoulder, but the truth is, I’m not.

She pulls back, narrowing her eyes as she scans my face. “Look, you shouldn’t be alone right now. Come stay with me for a few days. I’ve got room, and you shouldn’t have to deal with this by yourself.”

Her offer is kind, but I can’t bring myself to say yes. “Thank you, June, but I can’t. I don’t want to drag you or anyone else into this.”

“You’re not dragging me into anything,” she says sharply. “You’re my best friend. Let me help.”

I hesitate, glancing away before finally meeting her eyes. “This isn’t the worst part.”

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