Chapter 10 – THE DEED TO A SMALL CORNER STOREFRONT

“Where did she get this?” Caroline whispered, standing over my shoulder.

I carefully lifted the plastic.

The silk was pristine, adorned with tiny pearl buttons down the back and a delicate lace train.

Pinned to the collar was a small index card.

For my Hannah, when he finally asks.

The ink was fresh.

I checked the back of the card.

It was dated the Saturday before she died.

“She knew,” I whispered, looking back at Luca, who was standing quietly by the doorway.

He walked slowly toward me, his hands in his pockets.

“When I went to the hospital that day,” Luca said, his voice husky, “I didn’t just go to thank her for what she did for my family.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my throat.

“Why did you go?” I asked.

Luca stopped in front of me.

He looked down at the wedding dress, then back up into my eyes.

“I went to tell her that I was breaking my engagement with Vanessa,” he said. “I told her that I had spent the last three months watching a beautiful, kind-hearted woman arrange flowers in my dining room, and I had fallen completely in love with her.”

I gasped softly.

“You told her that?”

Luca nodded.

“I asked for her blessing to court you, Hannah. I wanted to do it right. I wanted her to know that I would protect you for the rest of my life.”

Tears spilled over my eyelashes.

My mother didn’t die worrying about me.

She died knowing I was loved.

She died knowing I was safe.

I threw my arms around Luca’s neck, burying my face in his shoulder.

He caught me instantly, wrapping his strong arms around my waist, pulling me tight against his chest.

“I love you,” I cried against his coat.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into my hair. “So much.”

For the next three weeks, the bakery became our entire world.

Caroline and I worked day and night alongside Luca’s contractors.

We painted the walls a soft, buttery yellow.

We polished the vintage display cases until they gleamed.

Luca was there every evening, bringing us dinner, helping us move flour bags, laughing with Caroline as they tested my first batches of cinnamon rolls.

We decided to name it ‘Dorothy’s’.

The grand opening was set for Saturday morning.

On Friday night, Caroline and I were sweeping the front entrance, exhausted but incredibly happy.

The display cases were full of pastries, cakes, and fresh bread.

The sign above the door glowed beautifully in the streetlights.

“She would have loved this,” Caroline said, wiping a smudge of flour off her cheek.

“She would have,” I agreed, smiling.

Suddenly, a black town car pulled up to the curb.

The back window rolled down.

A man in a sharp suit leaned out, sneering at our beautiful new shop.

It was Marcus Bellini.

“Cute bakery,” Marcus called out, his voice dripping with malice. “It’s a shame about the fire.”

My stomach dropped.

“What are you talking about?” I yelled.

Marcus just rolled up the window, and the car sped away into the night.

I smelled it before I even turned around.

Smoke.

Coming from the back alley behind the kitchen.