Page 1 of How Sweet It Is (Willow Shade Island #3)

I park my car and shut off the engine, tension tightening my shoulders. I stare out at the ocean waves as they gather and crash onto the sand, the morning sun reflecting off the water. The ocean is the only good thing about being on Willow Shade Island.

I take in a deep breath as I climb out of the Volkswagen Jetta that’s supposed to be mine.

It’s not. I miss my Nissan Altima. I miss my leather seats, the easy way it handles the road, and the sound system I installed.

This one has cloth seats, a too-sensitive brake, and crackly speakers.

I slam the door and walk toward the beach.

I rip off my sandals and toss them onto the sand by the large sign that cautions people there’s no lifeguard on duty.

I need to feel the sand between my toes.

I need the water to wash over my feet so I can connect with the earth.

I need to ground myself before I go crazy and drive the twelve hours home so I can check on my parents’ shop.

Can I do this? I thought I could come here, become a new person for a little while, and be fine.

But things are taking far longer than I thought.

I’ve already been here two months. The trial hasn’t even started yet, and they’re already pushing it back.

I don’t know how long I can stand this humidity.

It’s so hard to breathe here. I feel like I’m suffocating.

Tears sting my eyes as I once again swallow my urge to call Zoey, my best friend back home.

I can’t have any contact with anyone. It’s against the rules of the witness protection program.

Rafe, my handler, would kill me. And if he didn’t, Victor DeLuca would for sure track me down and kill me because I ratted him out to the police.

I wipe my face and square my shoulders, standing at my full five foot five inches. I may not be tall, but I’m strong. I can do this. I step onto the wet sand and let the ocean water rush over my feet. It’s cold, but I hold in my gasp.

I look up at the dark sky. I am not Claire.

I’m Amelia. I’ve always liked that name, so when I had to pick one, it was the only one I could think of.

I had a friend named Amelia in the second grade, and I envied her long golden locks that curled at her shoulders.

My hair hangs straight and limp, like black ink running down a wall.

Amelia was lively and smiled at everyone. I tried to be like that when I first arrived at Willow Shade Island, but that quickly went sour. I guess I’m too pragmatic to be bubbly. Now I’m just plain old Claire, with Amelia’s name.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, careful not to drop it into the water coursing around my ankles.

Of course, it’s not my phone. It’s fake, like everything else about me right now.

A text from Pretty Boy flashes across the screen.

It literally says it’s from Pretty Boy. That’s how I put Levi in my phone.

He’s quite insufferable, but he’s definitely easy on the eyes with his strong jawline and light-brown hair that curls at the ends.

I need your help right now! Can you come to the bakery? I’ll increase your salary.

I shake my head but bite back a smile. So much for Sundays off.

He hired me to do his books, but it’s obvious he has no idea what he’s doing.

It’s kind of funny, but I don’t care because he keeps promising me more money the more roles he asks me to take on, and I could really use the cash. I shoot him back a text.

What do you need me to do?

His answer comes immediately.

My employee quit, and this is my opening day. I can’t run the register and bake at the same time! HELP! THERE’S A LINE OUTSIDE!

I laugh and send him back a one-word message— Coming.

I stalk to my car, grabbing my sandals as I go by. So much for centering myself as I breathe in the salty sea air. Pretty Boy is panicking. Guess I’d better go help him. Actually, it kind of feels good to be needed again.

I’m used to helping with my parents’ business, so it’s no big deal.

They own a flower shop, and I spent many hours working the cash register, posting on social media, and delivering orders.

Not to brag, but I kind of held things together there.

And I’m dying to know how they’re surviving without me.

I rub the sand off my feet as best I can before slipping into my sandals and sliding into my car. The tension in my shoulders is better, so maybe the minute and a half I spent along the shoreline had an effect after all.

I glance at my shorts and SpongeBob T-shirt Zoey gave me as a joke. I’m not dressed for work at all, but Pretty Boy will just have to deal with it. He’s the one asking me to rush over there at a moment’s notice.

I drive to Crumb and Get It and park in the back then let myself in with the door code.

I enter the kitchen and suck in a breath as I look at the huge mess of flour and frosting all over the place, including the floor.

I should not be inhaling all that gluten, and it makes me grumpy to think working here might not be good for my health.

Pretty Boy rushes to me. “Amelia, I’m so glad you’re here.

” He does a double take. “What are you wearing?”

I fold my arms, now super self-conscious of my SpongeBob SquarePants T-shirt.

I put it on in a moment of weakness this morning when I was missing Zoey.

“You get what you get when you call me in a panic. Is this a crime scene?” I ask, pointing at all the red frosting.

“Murder in the frost degree?” I inwardly chuckle at that one.

He ignores me as a rush of words vomits out of him. “I have another ten minutes on my red velvet cinnamon rolls, and my doors are supposed to open in two minutes, and what was I thinking? I can’t run a bakery. I’m going to totally fail at this!”

I grab an apron from the wall. At some point, Pretty Boy had ordered embroidered ones with Crumb and Get It on the front. “Calm down. You make sure your rolls don’t burn. I’ll run the register. It will be fine.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and grabs my arms. A zing of attraction races through me at the feel of his warm hands on my skin. I’m taken aback by it, and I step away so he has to release me.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he says.

He turns to go to the oven. “By the way, Murder in the Frost Degree is the perfect name for my chocolate cupcakes with the cherry frosting.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “Thank you for that.”

I chuckle as I tie the apron on, extremely happy my joke didn’t get lost on him. It was too good to be ignored. “My pleasure.”

I rush into the bakery storefront and unlock the door. Pretty Boy was right. There are people waiting, and they all file in. I help everyone with their purchases, and an hour later, the rush is over, and no one is left in the shop.

Pretty Boy comes out of the kitchen, a tray in his hand and a huge grin on his face. “Here we go. Our newest cupcakes. Murder in the Frost Degree.”

I look at the cupcakes with the red frosting and a triangle of chocolate stabbing into them, making it look like a knife. “Nice.”

He takes one off the tray and slides it to me. “You can be the first one to try it.”

I’m a bit shaken by him being so nice to me. He’s been snarky and snippy, even downright rude, but never nice to me. Unfortunately, I can’t eat gluten, and Rafe told me to not let that get out, as that’s one of the things everybody knew about me in my old life.

I pick it up, touched that he would want me to try it first. “Thanks. I’ll eat it later. It’s way too early in the morning for sugar.” I set it down by the register.

Pretty Boy steps back from me, a stricken look on his face. “Oh. Got it. You probably have to eat some spreadsheets or something first.”

His comment stings, and I stiffen. “And what do you eat in the morning? Undercooked pickup lines?”

He smiles at me and leans in so close I get a whiff of whatever soap he used this morning. It’s an herbal, earthy smell. That, combined with his dimple, is making my head swim. “Some of us survive on charm and denial,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “Don’t judge my process.”

He doesn’t step back, and I feel the heat from his skin. It’s making my pulse jump. I try to back away, but I’m pressed up against the counter. “Well, good news. You’re clearly well-stocked on both.”

He lifts one eyebrow, and I must admit, that makes him look even sexier.

“Did you just call me charming?”

My breath catches. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I squirm away from him and enter the kitchen. I stalk over to the office, sure my face is flushed, which is absurd. Levi obviously flirts with every girl he sees. It’s insulting.

At least, it should be insulting. But for some reason, my heart can’t stop racing. Good heavens, I need to get out more. I can’t possibly be attracted to Pretty Boy. He is totally not my type.