Page 38 of Sweetly Yours

Her brow furrows, and she stares at me, waiting.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” I say quietly, my voice shaking. “But someone… someone did the same thing to my house last night.”

June’s eyes bug out of her face, and she steps back like she needs space to process what I just said. “What?” she snaps.

I nod, my throat tightening as the memory of my destroyed living room flashes through my mind. “It was the same thing. The door was open, and inside… it was wrecked.”

Her face hardens, her hands going to her hips. “You’re telling me someone trashed your houseandyour bakery in less than twenty-four hours, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I told Brock,” I say softly.

She throws her hands in the air, exasperated. “I’m not talking about Brock. I’m talking about me. Why didn’t you tell me, Willow? Do you not trust me?”

“It’s not that,” I say quickly, guilt twisting in my chest. “I just… I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I thought maybe the house was random, but after this?” I gesture toward thebakery, my voice breaking. “It’s not random, June. Someone’s doing this to me on purpose.”

June stares at me for a long moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Tessa,” she says, her tone flat.

“I don’t know for sure,” I murmur, though the weight of the lie feels heavy in my chest.

June crosses her arms, frowning deeply. “Fine. But if you don’t tell me the second something else happens, we’re going to have a problem.”

“I will,” I lie, the words hollow in my mouth.

As she turns to head back to her shop, I lean against the wall again, Frankie sitting at my feet. The street feels too quiet, the bakery too empty, and my thoughts too loud.

Tessa’s playing a game, and I’m barely keeping up.

When Brock walks over, his jaw tight and his eyes full of concern, I know he’s going to insist I come back with him.

“You ready to head back to my place?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean I need to be alone,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “I’m going to check into a hotel for a few days.”

Brock steps closer, his expression hardening. “Like hell you are! Willow, someone is after you, and staying in a hotel won’t make you any safer.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insist, lifting my chin. “I need some time to think, Brock. I can’t keep leaning on you like this.”

His eyes flash with frustration, and I see his jaw tighten. “You think this is too much for me? You think I don’t want to be here for you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I reply quickly, my voice rising slightly. “I just—I don’t want to put you in the middle of this.”

“You’re not putting me in the middle of anything,” he snaps, his voice sharp. “I’m already in it, Willow. Whether you like it or not.”

I swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. “I know that,” I say, my throat tightening. “But this is too much, Brock. We’ve only been together for a few weeks. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.”

His expression darkens, and he shakes his head. “You think how long we’ve been together changes how I feel about you? That it changes the fact that someone is targeting you, and I’m not about to sit back and let it happen?”

“I’m not saying it changes how you feel,” I say, my voice cracking. “But it’s not fair to you. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Fair?” he repeats, his tone incredulous. “Willow, I’m not here because it’s fair. I’m here because I care about you. Because I want to keep you safe.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. “I just need space, Brock. Please understand that.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he says, his voice low and rough. “You want space? Take it. But don’t expect me to sit around and act like everything’s okay while you’re out there alone.”

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