I soothed a hand down his back, staring up at him, experiencing the awe I saw reflected back in his eyes.
“How lucky are we?” I whispered softly, grateful more than ever after the sadness of the day to have him in my arms.
Emotion gleamed in Lewis’s eyes, and he bent his head to brush a soft kiss over my lips. “So lucky, mo chridhe. The luckiest.”
Thirty-Eight
CALLIE
TWO WEEKS LATER
Icouldn’t sleep.
Tomorrow Lewis and I were taking time off work to travel into Inverness for our gender scan. Knowing the sex of the wee peanut growing in my belly was going to make it even more real. My bump was still more of a swell, but Verity said that was perfectly normal at twenty-one weeks. Not everyone had an obvious bump at this stage and sometimes it took until the end of the second trimester for it to be noticeable.
Lewis had been working long hours on a project with his dad these past few weeks and between that and watching over me like a hawk, I knew he was exhausted emotionally too. I didn’t want to wake him as I’d lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, stomach churning with anticipation. So, I quietly slipped out and left a note for him that I’d be at the bakery.
I had a couple of new creations in mind to try out. There was one that was inspired by the Hungarian Esterházy torte, which was a cake made of layers of buttercream sandwiched between almond meringue. Mine consisted of hazelnut dacquoise and chocolate too. I wanted to recreate them into little miniature desserts topped with chocolate ribbons.
The Gloaming hadn’t shut its doors yet, so there was still a hum of noise spilling out from the building into the village as I drove past. Cars were parked out front and a few people still strolled down Castle Street.
I let myself into the bakery and began working on my version of the Esterházy. First, I wrote down everything swirling in my head into a coherent list and drew a picture of the dessert. Then I started finessing the idea on paper. Of course, I wouldn’t know for certain if the recipe worked until I baked it, but I had a good palate, so I had an idea of what would and would not work.
I was barely there twenty minutes when I heard the sound of rattling.
I jolted, pulse leaping as I turned and stared at the back door to the bakery. I locked it behind me, hadn’t I? The blinds were drawn on the window that overlooked the car park, but a shadow flickered behind it.
“Lewis?” I called.
There was silence.
And then the door rattled more fiercely.
My stomach dropped.
I didn’t even make it to my purse for my phone when the back door suddenly flew open and two strange men strode inside, closing it calmly behind them.
The men from the break-ins.
Had Nathan sent them?
Chest heaving, my eyes flew to my handbag. It was too far away.
There would be no option but to fight, if it came to it. I got into a defensive stance, holding my arms up.
One of the men raised an eyebrow.
The other sighed heavily. “No fight.” He had an accent. “Où est-elle?”
He was French? “What?” I gestured with my fist. “This is private property. Get out.”
“Où est-elle?” he insisted, menace flashing in his eyes.
“Get. Out,” I repeated, chest heaving.
The other man gave a quick swipe of his head and pulled out a switchblade. “Où est-elle?” he repeated. “Easy way? Or hard way?”
Fear shuddered through me as I glanced down at my belly. I had more than me to protect now.
