Page 21 of Riptide
"Cara." Piper appeared at her elbow, voice low. "You're freaking out. What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"You're really not." Piper glanced at the growing line of customers. "Did something happen with Chief Hunkalicious? He looked pretty serious when he left."
"It's complicated."
"Everything with you is complicated lately." Piper studied her face. "Do you need to take a break? I can handle the counter."
Piper gently pushed her toward the kitchen. "Go. Take a minute. I've got this."
Cara retreated to the kitchen, hands pressed against the stainless-steel counter, trying to remember how to breathe.
The bell chimed. More customers. She could hear Piper handling them, doing a far better job than Cara could manage right now.
Fifty thousand dollars she didn't have. For a secret that would destroy everything if it got out. From a woman who wouldn't stop at one payment because blackmail was her entire business model.
Cara was drowning. And she'd been trying to handle it alone because that's what she'd always done—handled things alone, ran cons alone, protected people by keeping them at arm's length.
But Wade had shown up at three AM offering help. Reagan had brought food and refused to leave. Tom had skills that could track Blaire's digital footprint. And Gabe...
Maybe she didn't have to drown alone anymore.
Maybe asking for help wasn't the same as dragging people down with her.
The bell chimed again.
"Cara?" A woman's voice. Unfamiliar. "Is Cara Sweet here?"
She wiped her face, straightened her shoulders, pushed back through the door.
A woman stood at the counter—closer to fifty than forty, with kind eyes and capable hands. She wore jeans and a simple sweater, and she moved with the quiet confidence of someone who'd survived hard things.
"I'm Cara."
"Diane Morrison." The woman extended her hand. "Reagan Byrne sent me? Said you might need some help with the bakery."
Right. Reagan had mentioned something about finding someone. When had that been? Yesterday? This morning? Time was blurring together.
"I appreciate you coming, but I'm not sure?—"
"Reagan said you were dealing with some things." Diane's smile was warm. Understanding without being intrusive. "I managed a bakery in Seattle for five years. Busier than this. I'm familiar with the chaos."
"It's not usually this chaotic."
Diane glanced around, taking everything in. "Why don't you show me where things are? We can figure out what you need."
Cara wanted to refuse. She could handle this herself. But Piper was manning the counter alone, customers were waiting, and she could barely remember how to make a latte without her hands shaking. " Thank you. That would be fantastic."
She led Diane through the kitchen, pointing out supplies and equipment. Diane asked smart questions and didn't pry about why Cara looked like she'd been hit by a truck.
They were heading back to the counter when the bell chimed again.
A woman in paint-stained jeans entered, dark hair pulled back, sketchbook tucked under her arm. Behind the thick, artsy glasses she had the distracted air of someone more interested in her own thoughts than her surroundings.
She approached the counter. "Could I get a large Americano? And one of those blueberry muffins."
"I'll get it," Diane said quietly, already moving behind the counter. "You should take a minute."
