Page 18 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
I blink up at him, his face swimming in my vision. He cups my cheek gently, and I lean into it before I can stop myself.
"You’re here," I whisper.
His jaw tightens. "I always will be."
* * *
For the next two hours, Marcus refuses to leave my side.
Not when the detectives arrive. Not during the questioning. Not even after Delgado and the others clear the scene and assure me, they’ll finish the paperwork back at the station.
I sit on the counter, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and Marcus leaning against the fridge like a silent wall of protection.
"Are you okay?" he asks for the fourth time in the last hour.
I nod again, but it’s not entirely convincing, mostly because I don’t know how I’m feeling besides shock.
"You should go. You need to finish the rest of your shift, right?"
He shakes his head. "I took the rest of the day off. Sargent signed off on it. I’m not leaving you alone."
"Marcus..."
"I’m not," he says again, stepping in front of me. "I mean it. I’m not letting this happen again. I’ll install a security system myself if I have to."
I blink. "You know how to install security systems?"
"I was Army Rangers, Julie. I know how to wire an entire building for surveillance."
That pulls a laugh out of me. A weak one, but still. He smiles faintly and brushes a thumb over my cheek. It’s an unexpected move, but I find that I like it.
"I don’t want you to be scared in your own space."
"I didn’t think anything like that would ever happen here."
"That’s why it has to be safe. I’ll take care of it."
I swallow hard. "Why are you doing this? You barely know me."
He goes still. "Because I care about you. Because I walked in and saw a man with a knife to your throat and something in me snapped. I would’ve done anything to get to you."
My chest aches. "I didn’t realize I mattered that much to you."
He exhales. "I didn’t know either. Until today."
There’s a long pause. The air between us buzzes with something electric and raw.
And just like that, something shifts. Something opens between us. Something terrifying and safe all at once.
* * *
The bell over the bakery door jingles like it's trying to shake the nerves off me.
I don’t even look up. “We’re closed,” I call automatically, still sitting on the stool behind the counter, legs tucked under me, Marcus's blanket still draped around my shoulders like armor.
But of course, it's not a customer.
"Like hell you're closed," Emma says, striding inside like she owns the place—because let’s be honest, emotionally, she kind of does. “Where is he?”
