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I chuck into his arms. “Oh my god, Dad. I’m so sorry.”
He holds me tightly. “It’s okay, baby girl. I’m sure the insurance company will take care of it.” He sounds heartbroken. Easing me back, he pecks my forehead and tries to keep a tough front. “I’m all right. It’ll just be a week or two before the business is running again.”
“Did you call Momma?” I ask, voice shaky.
Dad wobbles his head. “I’ll tell her when she’s on break.”
“What about your cameras, sir?” Brandon cuts in from behind me.
Slanting, I notice a dark and angry look on his face. Is he considering the possibility that it might be the same person who wrecked the room at the guest house?
“The police said the culprit knocked them out first. The face was covered so...” He glances at the bakery, brown eyes wilting with defeat. “What the hell is wrong with some people?”
I lean in for another embrace. He cloaks me in his warm, fatherly arms and releases a heavy sigh.
“As terrible as this is, I’m glad it didn’t happen while you were here.”
“Me, too. The person did it late last night. I guess no one heard the noise since it’s all shops here.”
The police take more statements from Rochelle and Isaiah, Dad’s only employees, to check if they have rifts with anyone.
Confirming the building is secure, the firemen leave the scene.
That’s one positive. Dad won’t have to replace his ovens.
Once the police take off, Dad and his employees head around back to check things. The neighboring store owners offer to help with the clean up when he’s ready.
I remain outside with Brandon, viewing the place with a cold feeling.
“I’m sorry,” Brandon rasps, rubbing my back.
Turning to him, I ask while frowning, “Why do you say that as if it’s your fault?”
He clenches his jaw. “It might be someone from school—someone messing with you because of me.”
“Brandon, it’s not on you. Some piece of shit has a twisted mind, and I’m going to find out who it is and beat their fucking ass. No one messes with my family.”
He edges even closer and grazes my cheek with his thumb. “Let me handle it.”
Dad turns the corner then, squinting in surprise at Brandon’s touch at my face.
He blinks out of it and comes over with a familiar floral book in his hand.
My eyes go wide.
“Found this amid the rubbles,” he says. “You must have left it on Saturday. I didn’t even see it until now.”
But I don’t remember bringing it to the bakery.
Either way, I’m relieved.
I collect the sketchbook from Dad and flip through the pages.
He pats my arm before going back inside.
“It doesn’t look damaged,” Brandon observes.
“Yeah. Gosh, I’ve been looking everywhere...” My delight dies as I reach the parts where Brandon’s sketches should be. All five are gone.
