“I’ll hold you to that,”he’d said.
And now he’s gone, and I never got the chance.
My throat tightens.
But I don’t cry. Don’t let the sadness pull me under.
Instead, I open the pantry. Start pulling out ingredients.
Because Jasper was right. I need something that’s mine. Something that makes memeinstead of just someone waiting for a man to come home.
And if that man happens to love cinnamon rolls?
Well.
He’d better come back to try them.
46
Mary
Two hours later, the kitchen smells like heaven.
Butter. Cinnamon. Sugar. Yeast. The smell of home and comfort and every good morning I’ve ever had.
The dough is rising. The filling is ready. My hands are covered in flour.
And for the first time in three days, I feel almost okay.
Not good. Not happy. But okay.
Like maybe I can survive this, after all.
Lev’s been watching me work from his spot on the counter. Not talking. Just present.
“You’re good at this,” he says finally.
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean you’rereallygood. Like, professional-level good.”
I shrug. “I used to think about opening a bakery. Before life got complicated.”
“What stopped you?”
“Money. Fear. The usual.” I roll out the dough and spread the filling. “And then I met Anton, and everything became about staying alive.”
“You could still do it,” Lev says. “After. When things settle.”
“If they settle.”
“They will.” His voice is certain. “The boss doesn’t lose. Ever.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Not for him.”
I want to believe that. Want to believe Anton’s invincible. That The Reaper always wins.
