Page 14 of Pastel Kisses

I don’t respond, my pulse thundering in my ears.

“How long have I been here?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

She pauses in the doorway, grinning.

“Longer than forty-eight hours,” she taunts. “And you know what that means! The likelihood of the police finding you? Slim to none. The trail’s gone cold. No evidence. No sightings. Poof! Gone.”

I swallow against the bile creeping up my throat. “How long?” I ask again, barely keeping my voice steady.

Her grin stretches wider. “Three weeks.”

The air rushes from my lungs like I’ve been punched. My head spins as my mind reels, trying to comprehend the amount of time I’ve lost.Three weeks.

Sarah’s giggle cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Now you know why I waited for the guys to be at their weakest.”

The door slams shut, the lock clicking into place.

I sink to the floor, my body trembling, grief threatening to consume me.Three weeks.

My dad. Roman. The bakery. The guys.

They’ve been looking for me all this time.

Tears slip down my cheeks, hot and silent, my heart splintering under the weight of it all. But I don’t sob. I don’t break. I let the grief settle, let it fuel the fire starting to burn deep inside me.

Because now I know how long they’ve had to search.

And now I know exactly how much time I have to escape before they stop looking.

Wiping my tears away, I tilt my head back against the wall and start to plan.

CHAPTER SIX

Lennox

Avery’s been missing for over a month.

Thirty-four days, to be exact. Thirty-four days of waking up to the same crushing weight on my chest, like grief had set up camp there and refused to leave. Thirty-four mornings of fear chewing through my insides like it had nowhere better to be. Thirty-four days of imagining every possible nightmare scenario, each one worse than the last. I don’t know if my mind is torturing me more than reality, but the not knowing is a slow, suffocating death.

The police had combed every inch of her place and turned up nothing. No fingerprints that weren’t already accounted for, no foreign DNA, no witnesses. The roses led nowhere. The cards were typed—no handwriting to trace, no clues to follow. Just a twisted version of 'roses are red' that’s been haunting us ever since. The blood we found was all Avery’s, but that only made things worse. That meant she was injured when they took her. That meant she fought. That meant whoever took her had no hesitation about hurting her.

When we broke the news to her dad, he came unhinged. No hesitation, no waiting for instructions—just sheer, unfiltered panic. He stormed onto her property, demanding answers from the police, cursing everyone within earshot, and making it clear that if they weren’t moving fast enough, he’d do it himself. In the weeks since, he’s learned to work with the authorities rather than against them. We all have. It’s the only way we’ll find her.

Roman’s barely holding it together, trying to keep the café afloat with her gone. He’s the only manager left, and it’s obvious he’s drowning. I stop by at least once a day, even if it’s just to sit at the counter while he pretends to have his shit together. We all take turns checking in on him, knowing damn well he’s just as wrecked as we are.

Jaxton has thrown himself into search parties and using his fame to keep Avery’s face on every news station, every social media platform, every missing person’s bulletin. He’s relentless, refusing to let the world forget her, refusing to let whoever took her think they’ve won.

Kamden let his Executive Chef run his restaurants so he could be here full-time. He’s stepped up in ways I didn’t think possible—coordinating with private investigators, bribing the right people for information, making sure none of us completely fall apart.

Liam’s always been the quiet storm—hard to read, even for someone who’s known him since the womb. He’s locked himself into an ironclad exterior, playing the role of Jaxton’s backbone, but I know my twin. He’s breaking. Just like the rest of us.

And me? I’m barely hanging on. My mind won’t shut off, won’t stop playing scenes in my head—what could be happening to her, where she could be, what she could be enduring. I can’t decide if imagining it is worse than reality, but every day that passes without her, I feel myself slipping further into my own head. I keep thinking about that fan, the one who drugged me, how easy it was for her to take control. I was out for hours. What if Avery’s going through something worse? What if she’s scared, alone, wondering if we’ve given up on her?

We haven’t. We never will.

Over the last few weeks, we’ve gotten closer to Avery’s dad, Dan, and the friends who circle around him like a second family. We go to his place to throw burgers on the grill, staying late into the night, telling stories about Avery, keeping her spirit alive. It’s one of the only ways we can be sure we all remember to eat. It’s one of the only times we feel like she’s still here.

We feel closest to her when we’re outside.

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