Chapter 4 - Sunday Dinner With the Ducas
The missing rules changed Roman.
He became quieter.
I became angrier.
Someone had entered his space closely enough to take paper from his jacket.
That meant the problem wasn't a stranger watching from a distance.
It was someone near him.
Roman wanted to investigate privately.
I insisted we document everything.
Screenshots.
Dates.
Camera footage.
The anonymous call.
The photographs.
“Receipts,” I told him.
“You say that like a weapon.”
“They are.”
Meanwhile Lily kept working.
That was deliberate.
Fear wasn't getting my bakery.
On Thursday she stayed after closing.
She was rolling dough badly.
“Your circles look like Rhode Island.”
“They're rustic.”
“They're criminal.”
She smiled.
Then suddenly stopped.
“My mom baked.”
I didn't move.
First rule of grief: don't rush toward someone because they finally opened a door.
“What?”
“Bread. Bad bread.”
“Bad?”
“Like bricks.”
I smiled.
Lily's eyes filled.
“She'd make it when she was stressed.”
I handed her the rolling pin.
“Tell me about her.”
She did.
For forty minutes.
Roman arrived halfway through.
He heard Lily talking about her mother.
He stopped behind the kitchen doorway.
I saw him.
He didn't interrupt.
Later Lily hugged me before leaving.
Roman remained.
“You were right.”
“Dangerous sentence.”
“I never asked her.”
“Now you can.”
His eyes were tired.
“I don't know how.”
“Start with her mother's name.”
“Elena.”
“Then say Elena.”
His throat moved.
He looked toward the door Lily had used.
“Elena loved terrible bread.”
There.
The first sentence.
Roman Duca looked like it hurt.
He said another.
Then another.
Soon he was telling me about his sister stealing his car at seventeen.
I laughed.
He laughed.
It was quieter than Lily's.
But it was real.
When we finally stopped, we were standing very close.
Too close.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Mine probably did the same.
“No kissing,” I whispered.
“I know.”
Neither moved.
His hand lifted.
Stopped.
“May I?”
I knew he meant touch my face.
Every sensible part of me screamed no.
“Yes.”
His fingertips brushed one loose curl from my cheek.
Nothing more.
Yet it felt more intimate than a kiss.
Then the bakery alarm beeped.
Back door.
Roman turned instantly.
Someone was outside.
A shadow moved behind the frosted glass.
Roman stepped between me and the door.
I grabbed my phone.
The handle turned once.
Stopped.
Then an envelope slid underneath.
My name was written across it.
May you like
Inside was a photograph of Lily.
Taken that afternoon.
