Page 14 of These Shoes Weren't Made for Stalking

She shook her head, curls bouncing. “I offered to help, of course. Even tried bribing him with his favorite cherry Danish recipe.

“You know, the one Minnie Goldstein’s always had her eye on?” Rosie added, her mouth curving into a smug smile.

I chuckled, recalling Minnie’s intense love for that particular pastry.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to kill me for it yet.” Rosie said with a laugh. I watched as her expression shifted from amusement to concern. “But Jake… he just clammed up tighter than my gran’s secret recipe box.”

Her fingers twisted the corner of her apron. “I had no choice but to let him go.”

“What happened?” The old wooden stool creaked as I leaned forward.

“Little things at first. Coming in late. Forgetting orders.” She walked to the window, her shoulders tense. “Then the cannoli incident...”

“Cannoli incident?”

“Three trays. Burnt black as coal.” She turned back, her eyes glistening. “Found him asleep in the kitchen. The timer had been going for twenty minutes. Could’ve burnt the place down.”

“That doesn’t sound like Jake at all.”

“No, it’s doesn’t… it’s not. And when I tried to talk to him about it...” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “He just shut down. Wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t say a word.”

The bell above the door chimed as a customer entered. Rosie squared her shoulders, plastering on her signature smile. “Be right there.”

I mentally tucked away the tidbit of information about Jake. “Thanks, Rosie. If you hear from him, let me know, okay?”

“Of course, dear.” She patted my hand affectionately before turning to the customer.

I stepped out of the bakery, the bell’s gentle chime fading behind me. My heart skipped.

There, striding down the cobblestone street like he owned every inch of it, was Dominic Steele’s unmistakable silhouette. His broad shoulders cut a striking figure against the backdrop of quaint storefronts, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. When I did inhale, the scent of pine and sandalwood carried on the breeze, tickling my nose. Something about his purposeful walk, the set of his shoulders, sparked my curiosity. My feet moved of their own accord, propelling me after him before my brain could catch up.

I ducked behind a parked delivery truck, tracking his movements. Dominic Steele played a role in all this, even if I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what part. And after what Rosie just told me, I needed answers. Once I was certain he hadn’t spotted me, I crept forward, making sure to stay a few paces behind.

My footsteps faltered as he suddenly veered off the cobblestone path toward a secluded park tucked between two brick buildings. The wrought iron fence cast delicate shadows across dewy grass, and a pair of sparrows scattered from the stonefountain at his approach. He settled onto a weathered wooden bench, his posture relaxed but commanding.

“Lurking in the shadows now, are we?” he called out, not turning around.

Heat crept up my neck—he’d known I’d trailed after him this whole time. Sheepishly, I approached and sat beside him. “How did you know?”

He chuckled. “Your scent. I’d recognize it anywhere.” The brass links of his pocket watch caught the light as he shifted, those steel-gray eyes pinning me in place.

We sat in silence for a moment, the tension between us a living thing. I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. “So, what brings you to the Historical District, Mr. Steele?”

His lips quirked, but his eyes remained unreadable. “I thought we might continue our... discussion from earlier.”

“You came all the way here for that?”

“I did. But imagine my surprise when I found your shop closed.” He turned, fixing me with a pointed look. “Didn’t expect you’d be too busy playacting as my shadow to keep your business open.”

My cheeks flushed red. “I wasn’t—That’s not—“ I sputtered, fumbling for words. “I was just taking a walk. Purely coincidental.”

“Of course,” he replied, his tone dripping with amusement. “And I suppose your walk just happened to follow my exact route?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. There was no way to explain this without sounding like a complete fool.

“Someone who might have a connection to the vandalism may be missing,” I finally said.

He turned to me, his expression serious. “What? Who?”