I should've known something was wrong the moment Tomas showed up at my bakery.
He didn't walk in like himself.
He didn't tease my staff, or steal a freshly baked croissant, or pretend to inspect the ovens like he usually did when he got bored of guarding the perimeter.
He walked in stiffly with his back straight, jaw tight, shoulders squared like he expected an ambush.
And my heart reacted before my brain did.
"Where's Jace?" I asked immediately, wiping my hands on my apron even though they weren't dirty.
Tomas didn't answer right away. Instead, he glanced around, scanning every corner of my bakery. The customers. The staff. The front display. The windows. And when his eyes finally settled on me again, the softness I usually recognized in them had faded.
Oh no.
"What happened?" I whispered.
"Nothing happened," he said quickly. Too quickly. "He's in New York. Meetings took longer than expected."
I squinted at him. "Tomas."
