Chapter 19

19

Cora

“ T wo almond croissants and two cappuccinos,” a man in his early thirties says. I didn’t even notice him and his wife come in until he spoke.

“Hi, welcome! Of course,” I reply with a warm smile. “Will you be enjoying that here or to go?”

“To go,” the wife says, her tone flat, almost sounding offended.

I give her a curious look but think nothing of it since she isn’t even looking at me. Her gaze wanders around, her gray-blue eyes filtering thoughts perhaps better left unspoken, I soon realize.

Eva’s in the back, doing inventory. The bakery has been steady today. Two tables are currently occupied, their plates half-full.

I get the coffee going and froth the milk, pouring it into two paper cups, while the man watches me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but it makes me nervous.

They look like an average couple from the suburbs. Nothing stands out, nothing that triggers my internal alarms, yet they both make me feel uneasy. It could just be the pregnancy hormones, along with the fact that I’ve yet to tell the guys about the baby.

“Is this your first time at our bakery?” I ask while I put the lids on the coffees and proceed to add two almond croissants to a takeaway box.

“No, we’ve been here before. We live just three blocks away,” the man says.

“We should try the bakery at the mall,” his wife tells him. “It’s closer.”

I shouldn’t feel offended, but I’m fairly sure she said that on purpose. “They’re pretty good,” I reply with a pleasant tone. “Not as good as us as they don’t have artisanal suppliers and don’t use local seasonal ingredients, but they’re not bad for when you’re in a rush, especially if they’re closer.”

“Whatever. I’m sure they’re more family friendly,” the woman retorts.

“What do you mean?” I ask, almost immediately regretting the words as I set the box and the coffees on the counter.

He makes a card payment, averting his gaze, while the woman gives me a sour look. “We prefer to buy from places that aren’t run by whores.”

“Excuse me?” I gasp, my eyes widening with shock.

“Come on, honey, let’s go,” he says, taking the order off the counter and nodding at the door. “Open that for me, please.”

“Did you just call me a whore?” I blurt out.

“That’s what you are,” the woman shoots back then bolts through the front door, shoving it open while her husband slips through like a scared little mouse. It closes behind them, leaving me flustered, pissed off, and sweating.

“George Hamilton,” I whisper to myself. “He did see something.”

We said we’d be more careful. The guys promised we’d be discreet. In hindsight, we were, except for that group hug outside. But that’s all it was. A hug in the shadow of a large SUV. Alright, and maybe some discreet kisses. George was in the car across the street. He didn’t have a clear angle.

Could someone have been spying on us at the resort?

They were super tight with security. Known for their discretion. I saw some of their patrons. I even recognized a few. Powerful people. There aren’t any rumors swirling around about their particular lifestyle. The resort guaranteed our privacy. They had no control over the snowmobiling incident, though. And if those people got in, what could stop others?

I’m spiraling into one hell of a rabbit hole of rampant overthinking, and I can feel my pulse spiking with each passing minute.

“You look pale,” Eva tells me as she steps behind the counter.

I shake my head slowly. “Nothing to worry about. Just a little tired.”

We’re both behind the counter, restocking the pastry displays. It’s almost noon, and my sister brought the baguette sandwiches and the bagels out for lunch. We’ll have about a dozen regulars coming in soon, so I get busy squeezing a bag of oranges for fresh juice.

The bell above the front door chimes, prompting both Eva and I to look up.

“Mrs. Darcy,” I exclaim and put on a friendly smile. “Welcome back!”

The sour look on her face makes my stomach churn. Eva turns around, immediately seeing what I see. “Mrs. Darcy, what’s wrong?” she asks.

“What’s wrong is you’ve managed to completely soil your family’s name,” Mrs. Darcy replies, sounding downright offended. “You’re lucky I already paid for my order, otherwise I would’ve gone elsewhere for the pies.”

“I don’t understand,” Eva says.

“Mrs. Darcy is here to collect four brie and cranberry quiches, Eva. They’re already packed and ready for her under the counter,” I reply, never taking my eyes off the woman.

She’s accompanied by her granddaughters, both in their late teens and both looking positively flustered, likely trying to reconcile my filthy presence with the homey atmosphere of our family-owned bakery.

“Yeah, I got that, but what did we do wrong, Mrs. Darcy?” Eva won’t give up.

Dammit.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Mrs. Darcy tells me. “It’s one thing to be intimate with a man before marriage, but what you’ve been doing is so much worse. You’ll go to hell for it!”

“Okay, that’s it,” Eva cuts in as she puts the quiche boxes atop the counter. “Here are your pies. You need to leave. Now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m never coming back!” the woman snaps.

My sister’s cheeks are red, but her gaze is fierce and unyielding while I helplessly watch it all unfold. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Her granddaughters take two boxes each, and Mrs. Darcy follows them out of the bakery, mumbling something about the sanctity and virtue of a woman, about how no man will ever want to touch a harlot like Cora Levine.

I’m speechless and motionless, staring at the front door. Eva stands beside me, giving me a persistent look.

“Would you mind telling me what that was all about?” she asks.

What do I tell her? I can’t offer the truth. I’m in love with three men. I’m in a relationship with three men. And I’m pregnant with no idea which of them is the father.

“I don’t know,” I say. “My guess is it’s another smear campaign.”

“They’re getting pretty aggressive,” Eva presses. “Calling you names, talking about your love life?”

“I guess people want to believe whatever Orson and George are saying.”

Eva comes closer and gives me a hard look. “Listen, I know there’s something going on between you and one of the guys,” she says in a low voice, causing the blood to freeze in my veins. “It’s your business, though. All I can do as your sister is be there for you through thick and thin.”

“Eva…” Tears bloom in my eyes as I hug her.

“I mean it. It’s not fair for your personal stuff to be put under the microscope like this. It’s just rumors and character assassination coming from the biggest of hypocrites, might I add. Mrs. Darcy loved that magical white powder in the eighties, you know. Before she got married and became a ‘respectable woman.’ Dad had some stories to tell about her.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, dear.”

“All these other old biddies around town, they’re all playing the prudes and the self-righteous, but they were rocking the clubs and the bars—and men—back when they were our age,” she says. “Hypocrites, each and every one of them. It’s easy to sit back and judge others for doing precisely what they did when they were young. At least you’re running a business here, Cora. We’re building something on top of what our parents worked so hard to give us. You’re smart, beautiful, and successful. The rest of them are just jealous because you’ve been keeping company with good, and good-looking, men.”

“They are good men,” I nod slowly.

“And as far as I’m concerned, they’ve been nothing but faithful allies. So whichever one of them stole your heart, I just hope it’s going to lead to something great for you, Cora. You deserve all the love and the happiness in the world.”

“The haters will keep coming in,” I sigh. “Calling me names, trying to ruin us.”

“This whole thing will pass once the escrow expires,” Eva says. “People will flock to the mall for a while until they realize that nobody makes pies and pastries like we do, not on this side of town, anyway. Our superior products and friendly service will bring them back here. One by one. You’ll see.”

“We just need to tough it out and survive until January, huh?” I reply, feeling a tiny bit better.

At least I know where my sister stands, which is as far away from my private affairs as possible. It’s the decent and reasonable thing to do, and I was a fool for thinking otherwise. Our parents raised us well. We both embody their love, kindness, and fierceness. And Eva sure knows how to be fierce when it comes to protecting her family.

“We’ll find a way,” she says. “Until then, yes, we tough it out. Keep managing any negative online reviews. Let folks pick another bakery if that’s what they want to do. We’ll be okay. God wouldn’t have brought Sebastian and the guys into our lives if He didn’t want us to be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply. “For keeping some things from you.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about anything,” Eva insists. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. All I care about is that you’re happy and loved precisely the way you deserve to be, Cora. Everything else is trivial and far from important enough to merit more than a second of my attention.”

“You’re giving some real big sister energy here,” I chuckle softly.

A smile tests her lips. “I kinda have to. I’m the only big sister you’ve got in an increasingly tougher world. We still need to look out for each other, and everything you’ve done so far—taking Sebastian’s job offer, splitting yourself between the bakery and Dario—I see you, Cora. I see how hard you’re willing to work in order to keep this place in the family.”

“I’m doing it for us.”

“True, but we both know you could easily land a job at any high-end bakery like that.” She snaps her fingers for dramatic effect. “You were trained at a patisserie in France. You’re one of the best pastry chefs in the state, honey. I know how amazing you are, and I know how many job offers you turned down just to be here over the years.”

My heart skips a beat. I stare at her for a moment, realizing how much my sister actually knows. I must have a funny look on my face, because Eva starts laughing.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re so cute,” she says, shaking her head and doubling over. “You do realize I go through our email, too, right? Most of the job offers you’ve received over the past couple of years have come through your Levine Bakery email account.”

“To which you have admin privileges,” I mumble, shaking my head.

“I swear I wasn’t monitoring you or being nosy. Every email comes through my inbox, but I never pry. I just couldn’t help but notice that you kept getting offers you repeatedly turned down.”

I offer a faint shrug and a blush in return. “I wasn’t interested in any of them.”

“I know.”

“And it wasn’t just out of loyalty,” I add. “I really like our business, our concept. Dad was onto something when he steered us deeper into French pastry territory. It’s truly one-of-a-kind. And we’re making a decent living out of it. It’s got to count for something, right?”

“It does. So, if you’re ever worried about where I stand, Cora, don’t be,” Eva lovingly reminds me. “No matter what you do, I will always have your back.”

It means the world to me.

I can’t bring myself to tell her the whole truth yet. I’m glad she’s so understanding and determined to stick by my side, regardless of what others imply. She is a good sister, and she’s done more for me than most.

To Eva, family comes first. Me. Her husband. Her daughters. That’s what she cares about and who she fights for. The bakery is our dream, our precious project, the place in which we’ve poured all our love and passion ever since we were kids.

I do need to tell Sebastian, Riggs, and Waylan about this, though. They need to be aware in case they are targeted next.

The thought fills me with dread and embarrassment.

Why can’t people just leave us alone?