“Someday . . .” Someday she could have a real life with time away from the café to do other things. Develop more friendships, spend time with family, maybe even pick up a hobby unrelated to baking.
She wandered onto the porch, wondering when that someday would come. She reached forward to push her key into the lock, but the door eased open, already unlocked and unlatched.
A sliver of alarm tingled through her belly. “Oh, criminy . . .”
She must not have pulled the door completely closed behind her last night. It had been late, and she’d been so tired.
Inside, she started toward the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She set her keys down and flipped on the lights. Beautiful canned lighting flooded her equally gorgeous kitchen with soft, bright illumination that reflected off the white tile and stainless steel counters.
Avery’s belly warmed, and she smiled. She couldn’t wait for her appliances to get here. She’d spent half of her entire divorce settlement on them. Commercial appliances distinguished the professional from the hobbyist. Those appliances would complete her dream.
She pulled her list from her back pocket, spread it on the counter, and wandered into the pantry to gather supplies for the lunch orders.
When she flipped on the light, she caught sight of movement through the opposite door, leading to the main kitchen and a cleaning area with more storage beyond.
Great. She was so tired she was seeing things. Well, it wasn’t the first time.
With bread and mayonnaise cradled in one arm, she stepped into the opening between the rooms and flipped on yet another light.
And found a man sneaking toward the back door.
Shock hit her first. Then a mix of alarm and confusion. Then she recognized him, and anger burst free. “JT?”
He spun and gave her that big, charming smile. “Hey there, Avery.”
“What are you doing in here?” A million other questions hit her at once. Where was his truck? Why was he here so early? How did he get in?
“I was just going to grab some water before I started work.”
“In the dark?”
He hesitated. His smile faded. And Avery got her first real chill of fear.
She backed off the confrontation but maintained control. “I’m sure Trace will appreciate you coming in early. Go ahead and get started. I’ll bring some cold water from the fridge outside for you.”
His smile flashed again. “Perfect. Thanks.”
He unlocked the back door and slipped out.
With her heart beating double time, Avery darted to the door and locked it. Then she rushed to the front door, shut it, and locked it.
Then pulled her phone from her back pocket and called Trace.
He answered on the third ring with a sleepy, “Avery?”
“JT is here,” she said in a half whisper, as if JT could hear her from outside. She hated the fear in her voice. She was competent, intelligent, independent, but she didn’t feel like any of those now. “He was in the café when I got here—”
“Are you all right?” Trace’s voice was suddenly alert and stern. “Are you safe?”
“I locked the doors, but—”
“I’m there. Two minutes.”
Click.
“Trace?” She lowered her phone and closed her eyes on a quiet, “Shit.”