Page 116 of My Favorite Kidnapper

“Yours.”

“All my life,” he breathed. “You and cake. I’m the luckiest bastard.”

Definitely dreamy stuff.

* * *

TWO YEARS LATER

DANTE

I stood at the window of my gallery, watching as the customers came and went from the small shop across the street. The Little Bee Bakery was a roaring success.

When Brianna had seen the vacant shop, she’d told me her vision. I wondered how her more North American cakes would go over in Italy, but she insisted the tourists would love them.

“A taste of home, Dante.”

So I bought the shop, had it fitted for her, and she opened her doors.

She had been correct. But not only did the tourists love it, so did the locals. Brianna hired and trained several women, and they were all needed to keep up with the demand.

I glanced at my watch, pleased. It was almost afternoon closing time. I’d go get my wife, and we’d go back to the villa. It was a warm day, and I knew she’d love to swim for a bit. She was now completely comfortable in the water. I’d even gotten her on my boat a few times, although the open sea was different from the pool. But baby steps.

My time with Robin Hood ended. I needed to keep Brianna safe, and I didn’t want any of the nasty business that occurred with Winters to be repeated. I didn’t need the money or the thrill of the hunt anymore. If I saw something suspicious, I did report it in hopes of helping the cause, but that was it. Once he died, the rumors Winters was causing did as well, and I was happy to live in peace. I had a different source of adrenaline now. My wife.

Being married, at least to Brianna, was a wonder. Every day was a new discovery. She still mouthed off, teased me, and made me work for her attention at times, but I loved it. She was a challenge that would never end for me.

She was perfect.

Even when she was calling me old man.

I thought of last week.

I’d heard her in the kitchen, humming away as she baked. I opened the office door so I could hear her better, finding myself humming the tune with her. I knew it but couldn’t place it. It went round and round in my head until I thought I would go crazy. Giving up the task I was trying to accomplish, I headed downstairs to ask her.

I walked into the kitchen, the answer solved quickly. She was singing now, softly, with a wide smile on her face. But I heard the words and recognized the tune finally. “Frosty the Snowman”—with a twist.

Frosty, the old man, was a grumpy, grouchy soul

I changed him, you see

’Cause he loved me

And my heart of gold…

She stopped when she saw me.

“Hi,” she squeaked.

“Think you’re clever?”

She put down the piping bag. “Pretty much.”

“You know what happens when you call me old man.”

She darted to the right, heading for the patio. I chased her, catching her before she got too far.

She never really tried too hard to get away these days.