Chapter 9 - The Sugar Cookie Treaty
Six months later, the town of Gray Hollow had fully accepted its newest resident.
Luca Moretti didn't wear suits anymore. He wore flannel shirts, heavy work boots, and had spent the winter helping Mr. Pike rebuild the bakery’s old brick ovens. The local loggers didn't know about his past in Chicago; they just knew him as "Luke," the big, quiet fellow who could carry three sacks of flour on each shoulder without breaking a sweat.
On a warm spring morning, the bakery windows were wide open, letting in the scent of blooming dogwoods and fresh river air.
Ash was sitting on the counter, his little hands covered in white powder as he carefully pressed a circular cutter into a sheet of sugar cookie dough. Luca was standing beside him, his massive hands guiding the boy’s smaller fingers with an infinite, soft patience.
"Like this, Dad?" Ash asked. His voice was still quiet, but the caution was entirely gone. He had started calling Luca "Dad" three months ago, after Luca had spent four hours sitting on the floor of their bedroom helping him build a wooden train track.
"Exactly like that, buddy," Luca said, his amber eyes shining with a pride that no million-dollar contract could ever match. "Perfect circle. Your mom will be impressed."
Lena was on the other side of the kitchen, currently engaged in a intense negotiation with Mr. Pike over the exact ratio of pink sprinkles required for the display tray.
I stood by the oven, watching them all through a haze of flour and sunlight. My life was no longer a secret. My name was still Sarah, but the fear that had defined my existence for three years had evaporated into the clean mountain air.
Luca looked up, catching my gaze across the busy kitchen. He smiled—a real, boyish grin that relaxed the sharp lines of his face—and walked over to where I stood. He didn't care that Mr. Pike and the twins were in the room; he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, pulling me against his chest.
"We need more vanilla extract," he murmured against my ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my neck.
"I’ll put it on the list," I replied, leaning back into his warmth. "Along with more sugar and a new pair of sneakers for Lena. She grew an inch this month."
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"I’ll take care of it," he said softly.
He didn't say he would have his men take care of it. He didn't mean he would use an offshore account. He meant he would take his truck down to the local hardware store, talk to the neighbors, and buy it himself. He had found his peace in the bread lines, and I had found my husband in the rain.
