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“You’re not my bodyguard.”

“Today I am.”

She opens her mouth.

I give her a look.

“Argue with me later.”

We cross the sidewalk together.

Inside, the damage is worse.

Someone’s overturned two tables, smashed the glass display case, and knocked a shelving unit into the espresso machine. Pastries are scattered across the floor, mixed with broken ceramic mugs and shards of glass.

Autumn makes a small, wounded sound.

Fuck.

I’d rather take another steel rod through my leg than hear that noise again.

Clara hurries toward us.

“Autumn!”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“No. Nobody was here. I came to check on the generator after the storm and found it like this.”

Autumn looks around.

“My ovens?”

“One of them’s damaged. I haven’t touched anything.”

I scan the room.

The refrigerators are still humming.

Good.

At least the generator’s doing its job.

Sheriff Daniels approaches, notebook in hand.

“Grayson Blackwood.”

“Sheriff.”

“Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Been busy.”

His eyes move toward Autumn.

“Miss Hayes, we’re documenting the damage. Looks like someone forced entry through the front window.”

“No kidding,” I mutter.