Page 26 of Sweetly Yours

Brock straightens, pulling out his phone. His movements are slow and deliberate, the kind of calm that comes right before a storm.

“What are you doing?” I ask, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.

“Calling the cops,” he says firmly, already dialing. “This wasn’t random, and we’re not ignoring it.”

“Brock—” I start, but he raises a hand, cutting me off.

“This isn’t up for debate,” he says, his voice steady but laced with steel. “Someone targeted you, and we’re going to figure out who.”

The cops arrive fifteen minutes later, their flashing lights painting the parking lot in shades of red and blue. Brock stands beside me, his hand resting protectively on my back as the two officers approach.

“Evening,” the older one says, nodding at Brock. “You’re the one who called?”

“Yeah,” Brock replies, his voice clipped. “Both back tires slashed. Clean cuts.”

The officers crouch down, inspecting the damage, while the younger one pulls out a notepad. He glances up at me. “Do you know anyone who might have a reason to do this?”

I shake my head quickly, my voice catching in my throat. “No. I don’t have any enemies. At least... not that I know of.”

The older officer straightens, brushing his hands off. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing. It’s not some amateur prank—this was intentional.”

Brock stiffens beside me, his hand pressing more firmly against my back. “So what’s the next step?”

“We’ll file a report,” the officer says. “We’ll keep an eye on the area and see if anything suspicious pops up. In the meantime, if you think of anyone who might have a reason to do this, let us know.”

“I will,” I say softly, though my mind is spinning.

After the cops leave, Brock leans against his truck, his arms crossed as he watches me. His expression is still furious, but his eyes are full of concern.

“This wasn’t random, Willow,” he says, his voice low. “Someone’s sending a message.”

“I don’t know who would do this,” I say, shaking my head.

He studies me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re sure?”

I hesitate, Tessa’s face flashing in my mind. But slashing tires? That’s a step too far... isn’t it?

“I’m sure,” I say quietly, my voice firm.

Brock’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he steps forward and pulls me into his arms, wrapping me in a hug that feels protective and grounding all at once.

“I’m going to take care of this,” he murmurs, his voice rough but steady. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the warmth of his embrace. But even as I stand there, safe in his arms, a nagging thought lingers in the back of my mind,What if it was her?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BROCK

The second the cops drive away, I turn to Willow. She’s standing next to her car, her arms wrapped around herself, her face pale in the glow of the streetlamp. The calm, collected front she’s been holding onto all night is starting to crack.

“You’re not staying at your place tonight,” I say, my voice firm but steady.

She looks up at me, her honey-colored eyes wide and tired. “Brock, it’s fine. I’ll be fine—”

“Willow,” I cut her off, stepping closer. My tone softens, but I don’t give her a chance to argue. “Someone slashed your tires. This wasn’t random, and it sure as hell wasn’t a mistake. Until we know what’s going on, you’re staying with me. No discussion.”

She hesitates, her gaze drifting toward her bakery like she’s weighing her options. “I don’t want to impose—”

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