The Red Velvet I Will Never Bake for You Again Novel – Ten years after the divorce, I ran into them in Savannah. My ex-husband, now a decorated Colonel. My adoptive brother, now a powerful Senator. I ran a hole-in-the-wall bakery. When our eyes met, they both went still. Gabriel Sterling hid the sonogram behind his back. Preston Vance pocketed the jewelry he’d bought for his sister.
I kept my gaze down, finished boxing the mille-feuille, and slid it across the counter with practiced courtesy. “Gentlemen, here you are.” The excessive formality stunned them into silence. Gabriel turned at the door. “You said you’d never bake again.” I smiled politely. “Just angry nonsense from when I was young.” Just like the people and memories I once thought were carved into my bones—it turns out, given enough time, they amount to nothing. … Children’s laughter drifted through the glass, too faint to pierce the stagnation inside. The two men who’d conspired to exile me from The Base remained rooted at the register. Gabriel held the box of fresh mille-feuille, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Violet’s having a difficult pregnancy.
We brought her South to stay for a while.” “Your mother’s here too.” “Care to see them?” I wiped the piping bag and shook my head. “No need. Give Mrs. Vance my best.” “Actually,” I said after a moment, “don’t mention it. Wouldn’t want the confusion.” Preston’s knuckles whitened on the counter. “Hazel, for years we’ve—” “Hazel!” Harley exploded through the door, pink hair bouncing, and hooked her arm through mine. “Starving!” A real smile broke through. I tapped her nose. “Red Velvet Cake. Fridge.
Your favorite.” “I want you to share it,” Harley whined. The smile vanished as I turned back. “Your order’s ready, gentlemen.” Gabriel’s gaze faltered at the words “Red Velvet.” Preston stared blankly at Harley’s liveliness, whatever he’d meant to say dying in his throat. I led Harley into the back. The automatic door slowly sealed them out. When I emerged, no one was at the counter. Harley talked around a mouthful of cake. “Hazel, you know those guys? They looked at you weird.” “When they came over, I saw the fleet of black SUVs. Government plates, aides.” “Heard one is a Colonel and the other is a senior official.” I filed receipts. “Just customers.” “If I knew people like that,” I tapped her forehead, “why would I be up early every day baking for you?” She grinned, leaning close to my ear. “The Colonel’s wife is the Senator’s sister, you know. Down here for the baby…imagine being that loved.” I murmured agreement, tossing the stained piping bag into the trash.
I knew exactly how much they loved Violet. Because ten years ago—one committed me to St. Jude’s Sanitarium on my wedding night and made me a laughingstock. The other declared me dead and personally kicked me out of The Base. They’d worked together seamlessly to shatter me, pushing me into a living hell.