Chapter 9 - The Stranger in TownTen days later, a black luxury SUV with out-of-state plates crawled slowly down Main Street, its pristine paint contrasting sharply with the mud-spattered work trucks parked outside the hardware store.
Julian Vance stepped out into the damp, salty air. He wore an Italian cashmere overcoat that seemed ridiculous against the wooden dock pylons and drying crab traps. His hair was windblown, his eyes sunken from nights of sleepless driving.
He walked into the Bayside Bakery, the brass bell over the door chiming lightly.
Caleb was at the register, wiping flour off the counter. He didn't look up immediately. "Morning. Sourdough's fresh, coffee's in the urn."
"I'm looking for Amy," Julian said. His voice was flat, authoritative, the voice of a man used to having doors opened the second he spoke. "Amelia Vance."
Caleb stopped wiping. He looked up, his gaze sweeping from Julian’s hand-made leather loafers to the manicured hands and the desperate, possessive glint in his eyes. Caleb had served two tours in the infantry; he knew an occupying force when he saw one.
"Nobody here by that name," Caleb said calmly.
"Don't play games with me," Julian stepped closer, his jaw tightening. "I know she works here. I have records. I am her fiancé, and she is carrying my child."
Caleb set the rag down with deliberate slowness. He stood at his full height, six-foot-two of seasoned muscle, flour dust, and quiet Carolina stubbornness.
"Mister, I don't know who you are in New York," Caleb said, his voice dropping an octave, completely devoid of fear. "But around here, a man who lets a woman eight months pregnant walk through a winter without a coat or a phone isn't a fiancé. He’s just an unpaid bill. If you want groceries, buy 'em. If you want trouble, you can find it out in the parking lot."
Julian’s face flushed crimson. He opened his mouth to threaten legal action, injunctions, and police escorts, but before he could speak, the bell chimed again.
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Martha walked in, carrying a basket of dried lavender. She took one look at Julian and stopped.
"You're Eleanor’s boy," Martha said, her voice sharp as an oyster shell.
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