by Elise Faber
To have her here with his friends. To have her in Darlington at the diner. To know his mom loved her as much as he did.
The only bittersweet part was that his dad wasn’t there.
Henry knew that feeling would never completely go away, but after having discovered what Bella had gone through to help his father, without even knowing him. Finding out that she’d sacrificed everything to give him one final chance . . . she had to know that she absolutely owned Henry—heart, soul, fingers, toes.
Every piece of him belonged to her.
One quick tug to her ponytail and she turned back to him, coming close enough to rest her hands on his chest, rising on tiptoe to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
“Come on, my sweet, troublesome man.”
Dropping to her heels, she snagged his hand.
And Henry knew that though this was the beginning, everything would be all right.
Eighteen
Bella
A few days later, she found herself alone in the diner.
She’d just turned off the lights, all the staff had finished their rounds of cleaning and sweeping and restocking tables, and Henry had zipped off to help Tilly, who’d gotten a flat a few miles out of town.
Bella had ordered him to go, knowing there was prep work to do for the following morning and also wanting to get a head start on some baking.
There was a real wedding at the Roosevelt Ranch this weekend.
She’d gotten to see the space at dinner the other evening. The new pavilion and gazebo had just received the finishing touches—twinkly lights everywhere, beds of brightly colored flowers, rows of coordinating gingham topped hay bales with thick pads carefully concealed so guests’ bottoms wouldn’t get poked. Mason jars and tea lights and horseshoes and cowboy boots.
They’d thought of everything.
And now completed, it was more gorgeous in person than the pictures she’d drooled over a couple of months ago on their website.
Probably more importantly, or at least more importantly to her, was the fact that Bella got to make the wedding cake. Initially, Melissa was going to do the honors and film the process for her show, but the bride had gotten camera shy on Monday morning, and so they were scrambling to draw up a new idea for the episode.
Melissa had still offered to make the cake, not wanting the couple to not have one, but then over bowls of delicious mac and cheese, Kelly had suggested that maybe Bella could make it.
“Could you really?” Melissa had asked, relief creeping into the edges of her expression. “I can do it, but I’m not a pastry chef. I’ve seen the things you’ve made”—she’d pointed at the chocolate cake that was sitting under a mesh dome in the center of the outdoor dining table—“case in point, that gorgeous confection. I could meet with you and the bride and—”
Bella had put her hand on the other woman’s arm. “I’m happy to help, however you need.”
And she meant it.
There was something different about this town, about the people in it. Not only did Darlington look after their own, but they freely offered up help without expecting anything in return.
Offers to help her carrying in groceries to her apartment, boxes into the diner. Rides to Henry’s house if she was walking from downtown.
Frankly, it had been unnerving at first.
But she’d quickly learned that was the way Darlington worked.
She’d watched Esther scoop up a crying baby in the diner, bouncing him around the tables so his frazzled mom could eat. Henry had left to change a tire with nary a second thought. Melissa had offered her the chance—and the payment she’d been going to receive—to make a wedding cake.
The town was wonderful.
Oh, there was the occasional jerk or curmudgeon or stupid teenager. In fact, Rob, Melissa’s husband, had her in hysterics at dinner on Monday as he’d described trying to figure out who had been stealing mailboxes from the neighborhood and putting them all on Mr. Watson’s—one well-known Darlington curmudgeon—lawn.
So different from home when she’d been sequestered on the estate, lonely except for the internet and books.
So different from New York, which had been exciting and different and filled to the brim with noises and scents and people.
She really liked it here.
And while it had only been a few weeks, Bella couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
She hummed as she worked, dicing up peppers and onions and carefully stowing them in the walk-in. Next came shredding cheese, making sure there were enough eggs and flour and baking soda.
Breakfast service was always busy, and the town loved Henry’s omelets and pancakes.
Speaking of which, she went ahead and mixed up some pancake batter. It wouldn’t hurt to sit overnight, though it might require some thinning in the morning since the flour molecules tended to tighten up, thus thickening the mixture, over time. Still, it would save Frank a step.
Pulling out her phone, she sent him a picture, letting him know it was there for him in the fridge, then washed up.
The soft chime of her cell signaling Frank’s reply had her frowning.
She hadn’t remembered turning it off silent.
Shrugging, she wiped her hands on her apron and turned for the shelves holding the dried goods. Henry still wasn’t back from fixing Tilly’s tire, so she figured she might as well get a head start on the wedding cake.
The bride, Shelby, wanted four tiers, all with different flavors—chocolate-peanut butter, lemon-coconut, vanilla, and salted caramel—and Bella was beyond excited to get started. The actual design would be simple, no topsy-turvy stacking or thousands of gum paste flowers. Which was a good thing because the wedding was in two days, and though Henry and Frank had both offered to help, their strong suit wasn’t in crafting edible flowers. Not to mention, the diner wasn’t exactly designed for baking. Oh, there were commercial ovens, along with heat and humidity that would wreak havoc on fondant, gum paste, and chocolate.
Still, she had cake pans and all the necessary ingredients to at least get the cakes baked. Melissa had sent her the recipes the bride had taste-tested and chosen, so she didn’t have to start from scratch.
But, she couldn’t help herself from making a little tweak here or there.
Today, she was starting with the chocolate peanut butter.
Melissa’s recipe called for peanut butter chips in the batter, Bella had a little trick to bypass that.
She ground her own peanuts into butter, added local, organic honey, and thinned the mixture with a little milk. Then she swirled it into the pan with the chocolate batter so the two flavors would be more evenly mixed.
Using a small pan at first, she prepared the two components, swirled them together, and slid it in the oven.
Then she set about making some buttercream frosting that she’d freeze and later thaw to cover the outside of the cake. By the time that was finished and stowed safely away, the cake smelled done.
A press to its middle, another long sniff, and she let it stay in for two more minutes as she stacked dirty dishes into the sink.
Her stomach rumbled when she pulled out the pan.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “You’re absolutely perfect, aren’t you?”
“I used to say the same thing about you.”
Bella whipped around, saw who was in the doorway, and dropped the pan.
The hot cake broke into pieces, burning her legs through her jeans, her feet through her shoes.
But she barely felt it, not with the terror gripping her so tightly.
Her eyes darted around, searching for an exit even though she knew she was trapped.
Still, she had to try to get away.
They stepped into the kitchen.
Heart pounding, she waved a hand to the stools Henry kept along one wall. “Why don’t you sit down?”
And then, when their gazes slid to the line of chairs, Bella made a run for it.
Nineteen
Henry
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The old idiom, no good deed went unpunished, was proving to be true.
Henry hadn’t minded coming to help Tilly, not when it was dark and she had told him she hadn’t been able to get a hold of Trent, who owned the only tow truck in town.
But that was an hour ago.
Before he knew the tire was a stubborn asshole that wasn’t going to cooperate. First, the lug nut had jammed, then the jack hadn’t wanted to work. Then just as he bent near the car to retighten the bolts, some jerkwad in a huge black SUV had sped down the dimly light road, nearly mowing him and Tilly over.
“Not local,” he muttered, making sure to give a better look out for traffic as he knelt next to the car again.
“Probably from the wedding,” Tilly said. “Out of towners always drive like crazy people.”
“They don’t know about the murderous deer,” he quipped, making her laugh.
The thought made his lips twitch, remembering how the story of Haley and Sam’s run-ins with the numerous deer on this road—two motor accidents that had resulted in two totaled cars and one broken ankle . . . and no injuries to the deer themselves—had reached Bella over in Italy.
He tightened the lug nuts, lowered and removed the jack, then stowed it away in Tilly’s trunk.
She hugged him, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best, Henry. Thank you.”
“No problem.” He squeezed back. “Now go. Enjoy your night.”
Tilly waved as she sank into her driver’s seat. “Enjoy your kissy time with Bella.”
“Hush, you.”
Laughing, she closed the door, started up her car, and drove away.
Henry pulled out his cell as he headed to his own car and sent Bella a text.
Finally done. Should I meet you at my place or the diner?
He waited a couple of moments, half-expecting her to text back, but also half-expecting her not to. She’d mentioned starting the wedding cakes, and when she was in baking mode, her awareness of her cell phone went by the wayside.
Figuring it would be faster to go to the diner and check if she was, in fact, baking, he started the ignition and headed back into town.
He’d check there first then go to his house.
The drive back into town took less than ten minutes, and one look at the diner through the large plate glass windows at the front of the restaurant told him Bella was still inside. Lights from the kitchen illuminated the round windows of the doors leading down the hall.
He parked on the street, turned off the car, then was moving around the keys on his ring to select the one to the diner’s front door when he saw that it wasn’t quite closed.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
Pulling out his cell, he used his other hand to tug open the door, wincing when the bell above it twinkled.
Part of him hoped Bella would hear it and come out of the kitchen, and worry tightened his gut into knots when she didn’t.
Ridiculous.
She was probably distracted by the cakes.
But the door was unlocked.
That didn’t mean anything. Hadn’t he just left it open when she’d shown up in town? Darlington was safe—
He reached the doors leading back into the hallway, pushed them open.
And that was the moment he knew his worry wasn’t unfounded.
Because silence was the only thing that greeted him.
Not the sound of a mixer or pans rattling. Not Bella’s humming as she maneuvered around the space or even the noise of the industrial dishwasher.
He unlocked his phone and dialed Rob as he ran into the kitchen, only realizing that as the call rang that he didn’t know what he would tell him. But by the time Rob answered, he knew.
The kitchen was in utter disarray.
A cake pan was overturned on the floor, crumbs of chocolate scattered and squashed into the tiles. The stools lay on their sides, the oven doors open and filling the space with heated air.
“Henry? Are you there?”
The voice in his ear startled him.
His mind was racing, his heart in his throat. He’d almost forgotten he’d been calling Rob.
“This had better not be a booty call butt dial,” he grumbled, the words fading, as though he’d brought the phone away from his ear.
“Rob!” Henry said loudly.
“Henry? You there?”
“Yes. I’m at the diner. Something—” His voice broke.
Instantly, Rob’s tone went from a mixture of amused and annoyed to alert. “What is it? What happened?”
“Bella.” He sucked in a breath. “Sh-she’s gone.”
Red and blue lights flashed through the front windows of the diner, flickering across the tabletop of the booth Henry sat in.
He dialed Bella’s cell again, for the hundredth time in the last hour.
It went straight to voicemail.
Again.
And again.
Fuck. Why hadn’t he insisted she come with him?
The officers were in the kitchen, taking pictures, fingerprinting the scene while Rob stood near the front door, talking on his cell in a hushed voice that sent Henry’s temper prickling.
Why wasn’t anyone doing anything?
Why were they all just standing around, twiddling their fucking thumbs when Bella was out there—
He clenched his jaw, forced himself to breathe.
It would do no one any good to run off without a plan.
Clearly, something had gone horribly wrong. Sergio had come back and—
Pam sat down in front of him, notepad open, green eyes holding a hint of sadness. “Are you—” She hesitated.
Henry put down his cell. “What?”
“Are you sure that she didn’t just . . . leave—”
He burst to his feet, thrusting his hands into his hair and gripping tightly. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed. “You’ve seen that mess in the kitchen. The overturned food and chairs and—” He swallowed hard, fury in every cell of his body. “And you think that she just up and walked out of here?”
There were fucking drag marks in the doorway, streaks of chocolate smeared into the floor, down the hall.
Pam—fuck that, Officer Harting—pushed out of the booth. “I have to ask these questions, Henry. We need to have all the information if we’re going to find Bella.”
“She did not just leave,” he growled. “She was testing recipes for the wedding cake she promised to deliver on Saturday. We had plans later tonight to watch a movie. I-I—”
Words failed him.
A hand dropped onto his shoulder, squeezed firmly.
“Steady,” Rob said. “We’ll find her.”
Henry nodded, even though his stomach was churning. “Any word on Sergio?”
He was the most obvious culprit at this point. Who else would want to take Bella? Who else had the most to lose?
No one.
That was who.
And if Henry had wanted to destroy the fucker before . . . well, now the need to eviscerate him was the crux on which his every emotion revolved.
Rob shook his head. “Last report had tracked him down to the private airport outside of Salt Lake. Flight plan had been filed for New York, but those can be changed in the air. No credit card records or pings on his passport. For all we know, he’s back in New York.”
“Or, he could be here.”
Rob nodded. “Yes, he could be.”
“Fuck.”
“It’ll be okay,” Rob said. “Stay calm and clear-headed. We’ll need that.”
Henry nodded.
Rob’s cell rang and he squeezed Henry’s shoulder again before stepping away to answer it.
Pam closed her notebook, stashed it in the pocket of her uniform. “Keep trying her number,” she said. “We’ll find her.”
Except two hours went by.
Then four.
Then eight.
Then twelve.
And there still wasn’t a single
sign of Bella.
Twenty
Bella
She’d made a critical mistake.
She’d assumed that Sergio had given up on her. That when he’d skipped town after posting bail, he’d realized she wasn’t worth the strife and wouldn’t come back. She’d thought he wouldn’t want to risk getting picked up for the assault charges the District Attorney was planning on filing.
She’d thought she was safe.
What she hadn’t figured on was her father.
On him showing up in Darlington with his bodyguards and Sergio in tow. She most definitely hadn’t anticipated being bundled into the back seat of an SUV or hustled onto his private plane.
And now she was back in Italy.
Staring out at what most would consider a beautiful view—the bright blue waters of the Mediterranean, fishing boats in the distance, colorful buildings surrounding her.
But Bella saw beneath the pretty exterior.
She knew about the concrete wall, the cameras, the guard at her door.
She knew she was trapped.
Sinking down onto the plush chaise lounge, one of the gorgeous pieces of furniture in her expensively furnished prison, Bella stared out the window, trying to figure a way out of her father’s house.
No money. No passport. No phone.
Fuck.
She was well and truly fucked.
Her eyes burned with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She hadn’t gone back on her own, she’d been forced by a father who had somehow lost his mind. Someone in the house would help her. They had to.
But she just couldn’t figure out why her father had done it.
Bella was a disappointment, and he never finished a conversation without letting her know that painful truth. He’d threatened to disown her more than once. So why, when she’d finally left for good, had he done this?
Why had he come after her?
She couldn’t figure it out. It just—
“None of this makes any sense,” she murmured.
A knock at the door had her jumping to her feet, hands braced in front of her. The thick wood panel opened silently, one of her father’s bodyguards entering with a garment bag draped over one shoulder.