41. Sutton

41

SUTTON

Walter set a dish on the stack of clean ones, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. He stilled, the lines around his eyes deepening with concern. “Are you all right?”

I did my best to force a smile but knew my performance was less than Oscar-worthy. “My sleep schedule is all off thanks to those couple of sick days. I didn’t get enough last night.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. My sleep had been fitful at best. Every time I found it, it was punctuated by nightmares of Roman grabbing Luca or hurting Cope. Finally, I’d given up altogether.

But when Cope found me in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea, he’d taken me back to bed and distracted me in all sorts of ways. I hadn’t minded that as much.

Walter’s mouth thinned into a hard line. “You don’t have to tell me exactly what’s going on, but I know it’s more than just a break-in. Those guys puttin’ in the new security system look like ex-military. So, you just tell me what I need to keep an eye out for.”

I sighed. I couldn’t outright lie about this to Walter. It wasn’t fair. Pulling out my phone, I scrolled to the mugshot Trace had texted Cope and me this morning. It was the most recent photo of Roman he could find.

The man looking back at me from the image was a stranger. He’d lost a good forty pounds, his eyes were sunken in, and there was an almost gray cast to his skin. Still, I forced myself to show it to Walter. “If you see this guy, or if anyone comes in here with a Russian accent, call Trace.”

Walter glared down at the photo. “Who is he? Russian mob?”

“He used to be my husband,” I whispered.

Walter’s eyes flared. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “And now he’s bad news.”

Walter’s jaw hardened, and anger flickered in his eyes. “He’s not going to hurt you here. I’ve got a frying pan and know how to use it.”

Warmth flooded my chest, and I couldn’t stop myself from throwing my arms around the older man. “I love you.”

He patted my back. “Love you like you were my own. And you deserve so much better than whatever he gave you.”

“It was worth every ounce of pain because he gave me Luca.” I would’ve taken that beating and heartbreak over and over if I got my son.

Walter pulled back, the anger in his eyes melting into pain—for me. “That boy is so lucky to have you as his mama.”

“Walter, I do not need to cry on top of everything else today.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. But I want you to tell me if you need anything.”

“I will. I promise. But I think Cope and his family have it pretty well covered.”

Walter shot a grin in my direction. “Good to see that boy doesn’t need any more common sense knocked into him. But I’m still gonna warn him to treat you right.”

“Walter…”

“It’s my duty as your honorary grandpa.”

The threat of tears was back, but I swallowed them down. “All right. He can take it. ”

“Ms. Holland,” a deep voice cut in from the entryway to the kitchen.

I turned to take in Anson’s friend, Holt Hartley. Apparently, he no longer worked for the security firm he was still a partner in, but he’d come all the way from Cedar Ridge to do his friend a favor. That told me everything I needed to know about the man.

“I told you. Sutton, please.”

He nodded at me with a smile. “Sorry. Old habit now that I’m back in the field.”

“Fair enough. What can I help you with?”

“We’re done putting in the system. If you’d like me to walk you and your staff through how to use it, I can.”

“Holy testosterone,” Lolli called as she bustled in behind Holt, a package tucked under her arm and copious necklaces jangling. “I don’t think my hormones can handle all this hotness.”

“I’ll give your hormones something to handle,” Walter shot back, a slight growl to his words.

Lolli waved him off. “Oh, hush, you old codger. You’re interrupting my view.” She took a step back and did a head-to-toe sweep of Holt. “You certainly know how to hire help, Sutton.”

Holt’s cheeks flushed as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Are those pot leaves on her cowboy boots?”

Lolli groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those law-and-order types like my grandson. No fun at all.” She drummed her fingers against the parcel under her arm, eyes twinkling. “Though it might be fun to get you to break the rules.”

“Should I be scared?” Holt asked.

“Very,” I muttered.

“Aw, come on now,” Lolli shot at me. “You might be taken now, but you’re not dead.”

I grinned at her. “I might be alive, but I also don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable.”

Disappointment slid through Lolli’s features. “Oh, all right. Here. Open this.” She handed me the package wrapped in brown butcher paper. “It’s for you. I wanted to do something to brighten your day. I thought it would be perfect as bakery décor.”

Wariness slid through me as I took the present, which was obviously some kind of artwork. Given what she’d gifted many of the people in the Colson family, the work of art could be anything. But the fact that Lolli had taken the time to do something for me, just because she knew I was going through a hard time, had a feeling of belonging settling into me. That wasn’t something I’d felt in a long time. And, God, it was nice.

My fingers slipped under the seam of the wrapping paper, and I tore it from the framed artwork. Letting the paper fall to the floor, I took in the piece. It was a diamond art still life comprised of countless glittering gemstones that formed a tower of baked goods. Everything from pies to cakes, scones to croissants. And at the top of the pile were three donuts. Two round ones and one of those butterscotch bars. The shape they formed was somewhat familiar.

“Is that a…donut dick?” Holt muttered.

Lolli beamed at him. “I knew I liked you. Art is all about the hidden message.”

“And that message is bakery penises?” I squeaked.

“Don’t be a prude, Sutton,” Lolli admonished. “Sex and the human body are things to be celebrated.”

Holt pulled out his phone. “I gotta take a picture of this. My brother Nash is going to want one of these. His two favorite things are donuts and being inappropriate.”

“Well, inappropriate diamond art is Lolli’s specialty,” I said.

“Tell him I take custom orders,” Lolli commanded.

“Sutton.”

I turned at the new voice, one I knew so well now. But the second I took in Cope’s face, I knew something was wrong. I handed the diamond painting to Holt without thinking, crossing to Cope. “What is it?”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “There’s a story in the press about us. They have your identity and photos from your attack in Baltimore.”