Page 117 of Hold Me Tight

Willow’s gaze scans my face. “What happened?”

I swallow hard, the knot in my throat thick and unforgiving. “She’s gone.”

Maverick frowns. “You know, this whole twin telepathy thing you two have going on is creepy as fuck.”

The kids race into the penthouse, shouting Nora’s name as they search for her.

Not bothering to respond to her husband, Willow steps close and wraps her arm around my waist before resting her head on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay, River. I know it will.”

I nod, even though I don’t believe it. “Thanks.”

More than ever, I need my sister to be right.

43

Callie

After dropping Nora off at my parents’ house, I head straight to Lakeshore Sweets.

This place is the one corner of my life I built entirely on my own. The ovens. The recipes. The early mornings and long days. There’s a rhythm to baking that usually quiets the noise in my head.

Flour. Sugar. Butter.

Stir. Scoop. Bake.

It’s simple, soothing, and predictable.

But not today.

No matter how many muffins I mix or croissants I roll out, my thoughts won’t stay put. They keep drifting back to last night like a song stuck on repeat.

To River’s face as he circled the ice.

To Zane watching me from across the arena.

To the moment River’s mouth met mine in the dark.

As much as I try to shake them off and focus on the dough beneath my hands, the memories won’t stay silent.

They’re loud and tangled.

And they’re taking up way too much space in a mind that usually finds peace in precision.

Two hours later, the front door swings open with a gust of cold air that sends a shiver down my spine. Sloane breezes in, bundled up in an olive-green utility jacket over her sweatshirt, with cheeks that are flushed from the wind.

She stops short the moment she sees me behind the counter, and her eyes narrow. “Uh-oh. Is it really so bad that you’re stress baking?”

I glance up from the tray of cinnamon rolls I’m icing, and force a tight smile. “This isn’t stress baking.”

She drops her purse on the counter with a thud. “Please. I’ve been around long enough to know what you look like when you’re mentally spiraling.”

“I do run a bakery,” I remind her, gesturing to the register. “Some of this is kind of required. We already have orders to fill.”

She arches a brow. “Callie. It’s Wednesday. All the pre-orders are filled. Unless someone booked a party I don’t know about, no one needs twelve trays of cinnamon rolls before ten a.m.”

She glances around, eyeing the croissants cooling on the racks and the double batch of muffins on the prep table.

“From the looks of it, you’ve been here a while.”