He really does love me.
With the debris cleared inside the store, the drywall and new floors installed, and the kitchen functioning, the new Butter Bliss will soon be ready for customers. There’s cosmetic work like painting to finish up, as well as the décor, but it brings a smile to my face to see the rebuild almost complete. I still can’t believe that all of the Coleman brothers cleared their schedule to come sort out the mess inside the bakery.
I’ll always be grateful.
Since it’s quiet, I open my playlist on my phone and listen to music as I sort and organize all the tools, small appliances, and supplies we’ll use inside the bakery. Rex found sturdy shelving that matches the décor, and now all the mixing bowls and baking pans will be stored within easy reach.
I’m so engrossed in the work that I forget about the world outside these walls. It makes me happy to be back in the Butter Bliss, preparing something special to sell to our customers. Since the electrical inspection has passed, the stoves are available for use. Yes, that’s plural.
There’s a whole wall split in half by a massive countertop. Each side has four wall oven doors, for a total of eight ovens that can operate simultaneously. That’ll cut way down on time for Granny Jo. She only had two ovens before this.
I’m craving Granny’s homemade cinnamon rolls and set to work on the dough. By the time they’re in the ovens, I’mwhipping together her famous cream cheese icing to pour over the hot rolls once they come out.
I hum as I clean up the workspace, tidying up the supplies I used and placing them into the appropriate containers. I’m tired, but the hard work is worth it. It’s beginning to look like the shop I’ve always envisioned, modernized, clean, and welcoming. Once I’ve added the final touches, like the new plants in place, I’m hoping customers come inside for more than just the baked goods. We’re building a fireplace and reading nook, as well as a study/work area for customers to use laptops and other devices.
There’s a slam on the front door of the shop, and my head snaps up, locking eyes with the stranger on the other side. He’s wearing a dark hoodie, gloves, and a black mask that disguises his features. The gloves are the same gray color that I saw at the corn maze as the stalker tied me up.
I’m terrified, but I also know that he can’t get inside. I move closer, too curious about his motives not to use this moment to learn more about him.
He tilts his head, staring right back.
It’s so creepy. This obsessed fan has never told me why he’s following me or what he wants from me.
He pulls a small notebook from his pocket and scribbles a note with black marker, flipping it over before he smashes the message against the glass.
I have to walk all the way up to the door to read it.
They didn’t tell you about me.
I frown. They?
He flips to a new page, writes, then slaps the response close to my face.
The TV producers.
I don’t remember. Wait. I remember a memo left on my desk. It said there was an incident, and the producers handled it.
“What do you want? Why are you stalking me?”
He shakes his head. A new message flips up for me to see.
Not stalking. Watching. Waiting.
I know I’m going to regret asking, but I can’t help it.
“Waiting for what?”
He tucks the notepad away and lifts a finger, shaking it back and forth like I’m a naughty girl for asking.
“I’m not afraid.”
He rests his palms on the glass, pressing his body close against it. For the first time, I hear him speak.
“Fear will bind us together.”
It’s not the voice of a young man, I realize. It’s someone older, experienced, and determined. He’s probably in his late thirties or forties—a grown man who knows better than to terrorize women.
“Your number one fan, Cami.”
