Chapter 7 - The Sweetest Batch
Three months later.
The spring sun warmed the stone courtyard of the Long Island estate, turning the manicured gardens into a vibrant explosion of blooming pink azaleas and white roses.
Inside the newly renovated estate kitchen, the air smelled of rich vanilla, warm butter, and freshly baked brioche.
Claire Bennett stood near the large marble island, wearing a clean white baker’s apron, her hands dusted with flour as she expertly kneaded a fresh batch of dough.
The sign outside the front gates of the property no longer read HALE ESTATE. A brand-new wrought-iron archway now bore the words: THE BENNETT-HALE BAKERY & FOUNDATION.
Dominic Hale walked into the kitchen, wearing a casual grey button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He carried nine-month-old Eli in his arms. Eli had grown strong, chubby-cheeked, and full of life, letting out a joyful giggle as he reached out with sticky fingers to grab a pinch of flour from the counter.
“Careful, little man,” Dominic laughed, dodging Eli’s hand while kissing the top of the baby’s head. He looked over at Claire, his grey eyes softening with a deep, consuming warmth. “You’re spoiling him, you know. He’s eaten half a blueberry scone already.”
Claire looked up, wiping a streak of flour from her cheek with the back of her wrist, and smiled radiantly. “He’s a growing boy, Dominic. Baking is good for the soul. Even future mafia bosses need sugar.”
Dominic walked over, setting Eli down in his high chair near the window, where the baby immediately began banging a wooden spoon against the tray. Then, Dominic stepped up behind Claire, wrapping his strong, protective arms around her waist and pulling her gently against his chest.
“The federal prosecutor called this morning,” Dominic murmured against her neck, his breath warm and steady. “Moretti’s trial is over. He pled guilty to avoid a supermax facility in Colorado. His entire distribution network has been legally transferred to our foundation.”
Claire leaned back into his embrace, letting out a contented sigh. “And Dr. Finch?”
“Finch is testifying against the rest of the syndicate in exchange for a lighter sentence,” Dominic replied quietly. “He’ll spend the next twenty years reflecting on his choices in a federal penitentiary. The threat is gone, Claire. Completely.”
Claire turned around in his arms, resting her hands against his chest. She looked up into his eyes—the same eyes that had once looked like cold stone when she first met him in her bankrupt Queens bakery. Now, they held only devotion, peace, and an overwhelming love.
“You know, when you walked into my bakery with Eli under your coat, I thought my life was over,” Claire whispered softly. “I thought I had lost everything.”
Dominic reached up, his calloused thumb gently tracing her cheekbone. “And I thought I was invincible until a bankrupt baker showed me what real strength looks like.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Claire’s breath hitched. She froze as Dominic dropped gracefully onto one knee right there on the flour-dusted kitchen floor.
“Claire Bennett,” Dominic said, his voice thick with emotion, steady and absolute. “You saved my son. You brought light into this dark house. You gave me a home when I didn't even know I was homeless. Will you marry me? Will you stay in this kitchen, and in my life, forever?”
Eli banged his wooden spoon against the high chair tray and let out a loud, cheerful cheer, as if seconding the motion.
May you like
Tears of pure happiness welled up in Claire’s eyes. She didn't hesitate for a single second.
“Yes, Dominic,” Claire whispered, pulling him up into her arms and pressing her lips to his in a deep, passionate kiss. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”
