I didn’t sleep well last night. Nightmares kept me tossing and turning until I gave up entirely. I decide to go to the shop, rather than wasting time in bed. I’m only going crazy here. My brain won’t leave me alone. I might as well be productive if I can’t sleep. I can get some baking done before customers start coming in.

 

There’s something about the perfect silence of the shop in the early hours. Totally dark, empty except for the display case and coffee machines, tables and chairs. It sits quietly, waiting for people to come in and make it bustle again.

 

The back rooms are even better. This is my church. Back here is where I do much of my thinking, planning, dreaming. While I’m measuring ingredients into the stand mixer, rolling dough on a floured table, pouring batter into muffin tins, I might as well be meditating. Sometimes I’m so deep in thought, I don’t notice Carly trying to get my attention.

 

That’s why it’s best for me to work at times like this, when there’s no one around to bother me. I preheat the ovens, then take stock of what needs to be baked. Chocolate chip cookies, chocolate muffins, carrot cake muffins, banana bread…I have my work cut out for me.

 

It’s joy, though. I’m so lucky to enjoy my work. I turn on the radio, then sink deep into measuring and mixing.

 

Christopher hasn’t called since I went to sleep last night—or at least, when I tried to go to sleep. I’m almost dreading the sound of the phone ringing now. I thought once I blocked Lucas I wouldn’t have to be so frightened anymore.

 

The thing is, I’m not frightened, exactly. More like confused, mistrusting, wishing I knew the whole truth. Wishing Christopher had the balls to tell me about his past. I asked him about her, for God’s sake! I flat-out asked him who she was. He didn’t lie, but he wasn’t completely truthful.

 

Of course, would I have been completely truthful if it were me? I can’t say for sure. I can only imagine the pain Christopher must feel when he thinks about his wife. Not to mention the way people have talked about him.

 

I think back to the way he treated me while we were together. There wasn’t a single hint of harshness, roughness—not toward me, that is. He wanted to kill Lucas. He still might. But not me. He was sarcastic, argumentative, rough around the edges. But not violent.

 

I can’t believe he’d kill his own wife.

 

That being said, I can’t help but think about the way he threw me over his shoulder, carrying me into the house. He was strong enough to do just about anything to me. Michelle was a tiny little thing. Imagine what he might have done to her when his temper was up. It’s clear to me he has a fearsome temper that he hardly manages to keep under control sometimes.

 

Yes, but Michelle was shot in the chest. I might buy into the “he didn’t know his own strength” excuse if she were beaten to death. That’s not the case. I can’t imagine Christopher holding a gun to Michelle’s chest, pulling the trigger. I try to conjure up the image, but it doesn’t come. It’s too far-fetched. It doesn’t fit with the man I know.

 

There’s no doubt about him being part of the club, however. The ink on his chest is all the proof I need. I can’t overlook that. What sort of things has he done? Even if he didn’t murder Michelle, has he ever murdered another person? Beaten them? Stolen from them? The odds aren’t in favor of him having a clean record.

 

Can I handle that? Right now, no, even though I’m in a better mental place than I was last night. I don’t have the urge to scrub my skin until it nearly bleeds. Still, I can’t pretend I’m happy that he’s in a club like The Wicked Angels. If we were together, would I have to get to know those people? I don’t know.

 

I’m jumping the gun. I need to take a breather. I need to steer clear of Christopher, too, no matter how many times he calls or leaves sexy messages. I can’t imagine that will go on for much longer before he gets frustrated. He knows where I work. Will he come to town to find me? I shudder to think of the scene we might cause. The big, bad biker and the quiet coffee shop owner. That’ll get tongues wagging.

 

How do I manage to find these guys? I shake my head at myself while scooping batter into muffin tins. It’s as though I have an attraction to all the wrong men. I need to develop better instincts.

 

“Hey!” I hear Carly calling out from inside the front door and call out in reply. Have two hours really passed so quickly? I fell into baking meditation once again. “How long have you been here?” she asks, hanging up her coat. She looks cute today, as always, in her festive sweater.

 

I try to keep my heart from aching when I think about the time I could be spending with my parents. I think on how different my life would be right now if that damned snowstorm hadn’t blown in.

 

“A couple of hours. I couldn’t sleep.” I slide muffin plans into the oven, deliberately avoiding Carly’s eyes.

 

“Oh, honey. I could tell you were upset yesterday before you left. I’m sorry.”

 

I manage a smile. “It’s okay. I appreciate you setting me straight.”

 

“So did I? Like, have you decided to give him up?”

 

I shrug. “I’d like to say I did, but I can’t. Not entirely.”

 

“Oh, Amanda…”

 

“You don’t know. I feel like the world’s biggest idiot, standing here saying this to you, but it’s true. You don’t know him. All anybody knows is the rumors about him, who he’s connected to. Remember, he saved my life.”

 

“So I’m guessing you don’t believe he killed his wife?”

 

“My gut keeps telling me he didn’t. I can’t help it. Yeah, I freaked out big time last night.” I shift uncomfortably, the skin of my arms still a little raw beneath the sleeves of my sweater. “Now that I’ve had time to think it over critically, though, it doesn’t add up.”

 

“You’re sure your hormones aren’t steering you wrong?”

 

I scowl. “I’m sure. That’s the last thing on my mind right now. I’m not a horny teenager, Carly.”

 

She holds up her hands. “I know, I know. But it’s hard sometimes, separating fact from feelings. That’s all I’m saying.”

 

God, she’s so right. I can’t tell her how right she is or else I’ll wind up telling her my entire sordid history. I’m not sure I can handle that level of emotion today. Lord knows I’ve had trouble separating the facts of my relationship with Lucas from the way I felt for him. If I hadn’t let a misplaced sense of duty, guilt, and shame overwhelm me for so long, I would have walked out after the first time he laid a hand on me.

 

It wasn’t even love, I realize now. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, so it’s easy to see how little love was left between us, especially for me toward him. He needed me. I was his everything. This was the price of a long-term relationship. I can’t believe I fed myself that garbage for so long.

 

I know if I’d let anyone else in my life see inside my relationship they’d have ordered me to get away from him. That’s how bad it was, especially in the last year or so, which is why I hid everything. I slowly and methodically disconnected myself from my friends just so I wouldn’t have to face their scrutiny or deal with the exhausting task of keeping my misery under wraps. I couldn’t admit to myself how bad it was, but I instinctively put on a happy face for the rest of the world while never once mentioning Lucas to anyone. How messed up is that?

 

Am I making that same mistake now? Lying to myself when it’s so obvious I’m being a fool? Would it be smarter to write Christopher Barton off as a weekend fling, something anybody would have gotten into under the circumstances? I mean, two young people snowed into together over three days, one of them being a gorgeous, uber-masculine hunk. I’m only human.

 

There’s no time to think about it any longer, because the sun’s coming up and the customers will be piling in before I know it. I fill the coffee machines with water and turn on the lights in the display case before filling them with trays of goodies. Carly takes the chairs from the tables while chattering away about some little drama she’s having with her boyfriend. I can’t help smiling, knowing how hard she’s working to keep my spirits up.

 

They don’t stay up for long, though. One of the first things I hear from a customer has to do with the club.

 

“Mr. Foley! You shouldn’t be walking down the sidewalks in this weather!” It’s been cold in the aftermath of the blizzard, and while streets and sidewalks are clear, any snow that melts during the day freezes over at night. I’m sure he must have encountered ice on the way in.

 

“What can I say? We were jonesing for some of your muffins and a little coffee. I just can’t get by on that regular stuff anymore. You’ve turned me into a latte convert, young lady!”

 

“I’m flattered, but I wish you’d take it easy. I’ll box up a few more muffins to tide you over until things clear up out there. Okay?” I wink at him and turn away to make the coffee.

 

“Say, Mark!” I hear Mr. Foley call out to one of the other customers, a retired cop. “You hear the club’s back in town?”

 

The hair stands up on the back of my neck. Carly, who’s pouring plain coffee, clears her throat.

 

“Yeah, I did.” Mark’s voice is tight, tired. “Don’t envy the boys dealing with them now. That was a helluva pain in the ass—oh, excuse my language, ladies.”

 

“Don’t mention it!” Carly’s cheerful voice cuts through my haze of turbulent thoughts.

 

“I heard a warehouse a few miles down the road was torched last night. Can’t say it was them; can’t say it wasn’t. Rumor has it another club owns the land.”

 

I close my eyes. Will this torture ever end? I’m sure Christopher wasn’t involved in that. Was he? Did he text me sexy things while standing off to the side as the warehouse went up in flames?

 

I turn back to Mr. Foley, coffee cups in a cardboard holder, begging him to be careful out there. Mark offers to drive him home. I’m glad for it—not to mention being glad they’re taking their conversation elsewhere.

 

The club’s back in town, and back in business. What does that mean for Christopher?