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I’m going to bring up working with her a few days a week. Maybe two to start, and not for money. Just to get out of the house and doing something productive in society. Plus, I know she could use the help.

I fix my braid, tugging on the strands so it looks more natural and not so tight, then hurry out and meet the guys at the front door.

“All good?” Forge asks.

“Yes,” I say with a nod.

We head out the door and into the car. They drop me off at Trina’s. I knock on the front door of the bakery. The guys wait for me to go inside before they take off for work.

Trina hugs me tightly the moment I’m inside the door.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she says.

I hug her back. “I missed you too.”

We hold onto each other for a while, until she pulls back and looks me in the eye.

“I know you have so much to tell me.”

“Oh, I do,” I say with a smile.

“Good. We can chat while we frost the donuts.”

The store will open in about thirty minutes, so we have time to chat before it does. I’ll continue to frost donuts and fill pastries while she takes care of customers when we open, just like I used to do before.

We work together seamlessly as I tell her everything I’ve been up to. I talk about the garden, the beautiful home, the amazing bathtub that they have, and of course I tell her about my heat coming early and us bonding. I’m not embarrassed to share this with her because she’s a friend. She helped me when I was at my lowest, and what’s to be ashamed about anyway? It happens to a lot of us!

The time passes quickly. There is a line at the door before she unlocks it, and when she does, they flood in like vultures. I stay at the pastry case to help her get orders until the line dwindles down, then I go into the back and finish prepping the rest of the pastries and restocking the case. Trina runs around making coffees and cashing people out. It’s non-stop busy for about an hour, and then we can finally breathe.

She makes us each a pumpkin latte, mine with extra whipped cream and cinnamon. It’s delicious, and I wish I was closer so I could have one every day.

“I can teach you how to make it,” Trina says. “It’s easy.”

“But it’ll never be as good as yours.”

She smiles, and the bell above the door rings letting us know there is another customer. I take my drink to the back, and just before the doors close, I hear that voice gain.

The one that made me freeze last time. The man who was at Tiger’s house.

This time, I don’t cower. Initially, my body stops moving, but I force my legs to go to the door, and I peak through the small oval window at the top to get a good look at him.

That is definitely the man I saw rummaging around in the drawers at Tiger’s house. I knew the voice, and now I know his face. It’s the younger one. The one with the dark hair and thick beard.

I take note of his height, what he’s wearing, and the small scar on the left side of his chin. This time, there won’t be any hiding. I glance at the clock to catch the time. When there is a lull in the customers, I’m going to tell Trina to check the cameras and screenshot his face. I’m also going to call Forge and Pierce to let them know he was here again the moment I get a second to do so.

The bakery is busy through the afternoon. It seems the pumpkin flavored items brings people here, even if they wouldn’t normally come. I’m so happy for Trina that it’s busy and her business is doing well.

“Rae, can you change this trash for me?” I hear her call out from the other side of the door, so I stop what I’m doing, take off my gloves, and head out to the front to change out her trash.

“Just be careful with it. I accidentally dumped a large coffee in there.”

Sometimes when she’s busy, she forgets to empty the mess ups before tossing them into the trash.

“I will,” I say as I pull the barrel to the back. I bring out another for her to use while I handle this one.

I drag it all the way to the back doors, and prop them open with the rock that she keeps just outside for this purpose. When the door is open, I tug the barrel outside and toward the dumpster. I pick it up and dump it all in. It smells, but apparently it’s even worse in the summer, when everything is hot. I don’t even want to think about that, because it smells bad enough now. Like sour milk and rot.

“Raewyn Forester?” I pause before turning around, that voice like fingers on a chalk board. “Excuse me, are you Raewyn Forester?”