Chapter 1 - The Five Children at My Counter
A little boy slammed both hands against the bakery counter and cried, "Don't make Claire leave!"
When Dominic Vale entered, he found a folded hospital letter beside Claire's flour-covered rolling pin.
One sentence had been circled in red.
UNABLE TO CARRY A PREGNANCY.
Dominic realized someone had been inside Claire's bakery.
Claire Donnelly stared at the letter as though it belonged to somebody else.
For nine years, she had kept it inside a small cedar box beneath winter scarves in the back of her bedroom closet.
Nobody in Greyhaven had seen it.
Nobody except Aunt Margaret.
And Aunt Margaret had been dead for eleven months.
"Where did you get that?" Claire asked.
Her voice was quieter than she intended.
Seven-year-old Noah Vale immediately pulled his hands away from the counter.
"I didn't touch it."
"I know, sweetheart."
Claire looked toward Dominic.
The man filled the doorway without trying.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and dressed almost entirely in black. A faint line of ink disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. More tattoos crossed the hand supporting his sleeping three-year-old daughter, Lily.
People in Greyhaven called Dominic Vale many things.
Businessman.
Widower.
Dangerous man.
Mafia boss, when they believed nobody important was listening.
Claire had never asked which description was true.
She knew only what she had seen.
A father who tied shoelaces.
A father who remembered that Noah hated raisins.
A father who could hold a sleeping child for forty minutes without complaining that his arm hurt.
Behind him stood the other four children.
Fifteen-year-old Gabriel watched everything with unsettling attention.
Nine-year-old Sophie had already moved closer to Claire.
Five-year-old Ben stared at the hospital paper as though it were personally responsible for making the adults uncomfortable.
Noah still had half a chocolate-chip cookie in one hand.
Dominic lowered his voice.
"Was your bakery locked last night?"
"Yes."
"Alarm?"
"Set."
"Anyone else have a key?"
Claire hesitated.
"My landlord."
"Name?"
"Dominic."
His expression changed slightly.
Claire hated when he did that.
One moment he was the man who bought six cinnamon rolls and let Lily steal icing from his plate.
The next he became someone colder.
Someone who noticed exits.
Someone who remembered names.
Someone people moved away from without being told.
"I don't need you solving this," Claire said.
"Somebody entered your business."
"And you're not the police."
"No."
The single word carried no apology.
Claire took the letter.
Her fingers trembled.
She hated that too.
She had been nineteen when a doctor had sat beside her hospital bed and explained that the emergency surgery had saved her life but had taken something she had assumed she would always have.
Possibility.
At nineteen, Claire hadn't even known whether she wanted children.
But Greyhaven had eventually taught her that apparently everybody else had opinions about whether she deserved them.
The first cruelty came from a boyfriend's mother.
The tenth came from a church acquaintance.
By twenty-eight, Claire had stopped counting.
Women whispered that a man who married her would be "ending his bloodline."
Men occasionally said worse.
Claire learned to smile.
She learned to bake.
She learned that butter behaved predictably if you understood temperature, that yeast could recover if given warmth, and that broken dough sometimes needed patience rather than force.
People were harder.
"Claire?"
Sophie touched her sleeve.
Claire looked down.
"Yes?"
"Are you sick?"
"No, honey."
"Then why are you sad?"
Claire glanced at the paper.
"Old memories."
Sophie considered that answer.
"Those are the worst kind."
Gabriel almost smiled.
Dominic did not.
He carried Lily to a booth near the window and gently laid her across the padded bench, keeping one hand behind her head until she settled.
That simple movement affected Claire more than his questions had.
Dominic's wife, Elena, had died three years earlier.
Claire knew little about it.
Greyhaven gossip said illness.
Other gossip said an accident.
The uglier rumors said Dominic's world had followed him home.
Claire never repeated any of them.
Children had already lost their mother.
They didn't need strangers turning grief into entertainment.
The Vale children had first entered Claire's bakery six months earlier.
Noah had dropped a dollar on the floor and burst into tears because he thought he couldn't afford his cookie anymore.
Claire found the dollar under a chair.
Then she gave him two cookies anyway.
The following Saturday, all five children came.
Then Dominic.
Then it became a routine.
Saturday morning belonged to the Vales.
Claire never admitted how much she waited for it.
She knew Gabriel wanted coffee but Dominic permitted only one cup.
She knew Sophie preferred the corner of cinnamon rolls.
Noah wanted anything containing chocolate.
Ben claimed oatmeal cookies were "vegetables pretending to be dessert."
Lily liked frosting and believed napkins were optional.
And Dominic?
Black coffee.
One cinnamon roll.
Always the chair facing the entrance.
"Miss Claire?" Ben asked.
"Yes?"
"Can we still decorate cookies?"
Claire blinked.
She had forgotten.
She had promised them snowflake cookies.
"Of course."
Within ten minutes, the disturbing letter had been moved into a drawer and five children surrounded the worktable.
Even Gabriel participated after Sophie accused him of being afraid of sprinkles.
Dominic remained near the counter.
Watching.
Claire rolled dough.
Ben stole flour.
Noah complained about Ben stealing flour while stealing chocolate chips himself.
Sophie carefully piped blue icing onto a crooked snowflake.
Lily woke and immediately demanded to be held by Claire.
Claire froze.
Dominic noticed.
"She'll survive if you say no."
Lily extended both arms.
"Claire."
That ended the debate.
Claire lifted her.
The little girl settled against her instantly.
Warm.
Heavy.
Trusting.
Claire's throat tightened.
She turned away before Dominic could see.
But Dominic saw everything.
"She's comfortable with you," he said.
"She's comfortable with anyone who smells like cinnamon."
"No."
Claire looked at him.
His voice was softer now.
"She isn't."
Something passed between them.
Claire broke eye contact first.
By eleven, the bakery was crowded.
That was when Celeste Harrow arrived.
Celeste was thirty, elegant, wealthy, and the daughter of a family that had been trying to connect itself to Dominic for months.
Greyhaven had already decided she was perfect for him.
Claire had overheard enough conversations to understand why.
Beautiful.
Educated.
Connected.
And, according to the women who discussed these matters as though evaluating livestock, capable of "giving Dominic more heirs."
Celeste stopped when she saw Lily in Claire's arms.
"Well."
Claire kept her expression neutral.
"Morning, Celeste."
Celeste looked at Dominic.
"I thought we were having lunch."
"We are."
"You brought everyone?"
"They're my children."
Her smile tightened.
"Obviously."
Lily buried her face against Claire's shoulder.
Celeste's eyes followed the movement.
Then she noticed the flour on Dominic's sleeve.
"You've been baking?"
"Noah attacked me."
"I slipped!" Noah protested.
For one strange second, Dominic smiled.
Claire had seen that smile only twice.
It transformed him.
Celeste saw it too.
And she understood immediately who had caused it.
Her gaze returned to Claire.
"I heard your aunt left you the bakery."
"She did."
"How sweet. It must be nice having something to occupy your time."
Claire recognized the weapon before it landed.
Celeste continued.
"Especially when you don't have a family of your own."
Silence.
Gabriel stopped decorating.
Sophie stared at Celeste.
Dominic's expression emptied.
Claire calmly placed Lily on her hip.
"I have plenty to do."
"I'm sure."
Celeste smiled.
"Some women are simply meant for careers."
"Celeste," Dominic said.
One word.
She looked at him.
"Yes?"
"Leave."
Her face changed.
"Excuse me?"
"My children heard you."
"I didn't say anything inappropriate."
"You knew exactly what you said."
Claire stepped forward.
"Dominic, don't."
He looked at her.
"I don't need rescuing," she said.
"No."
His gaze remained on hers.
"But my children need to understand that cruelty doesn't become acceptable because someone says it politely."
Sophie reached for Claire's floury hand.
Celeste saw it.
So did everyone else.
Her cheeks colored.
"You are embarrassing me over a baker?"
Dominic became very still.
Claire wished Celeste would stop.
She didn't.
"There are women in this town who could actually give you a future."
Noah frowned.
"We are his future."
Celeste stared at him.
The seven-year-old moved closer to Claire.
Then Dominic spoke.
"My son just explained something to you that apparently every adult around you failed to."
Celeste grabbed her purse.
Before leaving, she turned toward Claire.
The expression on her face was no longer embarrassment.
It was hatred.
The brass bell rang sharply behind her.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then Ben held up his cookie.
"Mine looks like a potato."
Claire laughed despite herself.
The children followed.
Even Dominic's mouth twitched.
But Claire couldn't forget Celeste's face.
Or the hospital letter.
At noon, Dominic took the children home.
Sophie hugged Claire.
Noah asked whether Saturday could happen twice a week.
Gabriel quietly said, "Thanks."
Dominic remained after the others stepped outside.
"Change your locks."
"I will."
"Today."
"Bossy."
"Alive."
Claire folded her arms.
"Are those my choices?"
His gaze dropped briefly to the flour on her cheek.
Then he reached toward her.
Claire stopped breathing.
Dominic brushed the flour away with his thumb.
Neither moved.
"Claire."
She swallowed.
"Yes?"
"What Celeste said—"
"Don't."
"You shouldn't believe it."
She gave a small smile.
"That's easy for someone with five children to say."
Pain flashed across his face.
Claire regretted the words immediately.
"Dominic, I didn't mean—"
"I know."
He stepped back.
Then left.
Claire watched him through the front window as five children surrounded him on the sidewalk.
Sophie took his hand.
Ben tugged his coat.
Noah bounced around him.
Gabriel carried Lily.
A family.
Exactly what Claire had been told she could never have.
She locked the door at six.
At six fifteen, she checked the new lock the locksmith had installed.
At six thirty, she turned off the ovens.
Then she heard something in the back room.
A scrape.
Claire stopped.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
She picked up her rolling pin.
Another sound.
From her office.
She moved slowly toward the door.
It stood open.
Claire knew she had closed it.
On her desk sat the cedar box from her bedroom closet.
Her hospital records were spread beside it.
And on top of them was a photograph.
Dominic.
His five children.
Claire.
Taken through the bakery window that morning.
Someone had drawn a red line across Claire's face.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Claire answered.
A distorted voice whispered three words.
"Leave them alone."
May you like
Then the back door moved.
Someone was still inside.
