Chapter Nineteen
Adalia lifted her fist to the door then dropped it to her side again. She didn’t want to knock. The wrinkled disdain on the other side of that door terrified her more than a future without baking.
Why was that?
Sylvester Montclair’s disappointment was a cross she didn’t want to bear, but Adalia would be damned if she went back to Trent’s apartment for more time than it took to pack her bags and get the hell out of there.
She crunched the handle of the bag in palm and slammed it into her thigh.
“Grow a pair, Adalia,” she whispered, then rapped her knuckles against the white wood three times. Her father’s footsteps rang out from the other side of the door.
The bolt scraped back and he opened up. His eyebrows danced in surprise.
“What are you doing here, girl?” Sylvest
