It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be true. El was…El. Her baker, her lover. There was no way the man she loved could be the nephew of her enemy. Wayne knocked on the door, and she looked up. “You okay?” She nodded, wishing she’d locked the door. “Sophie…I wanted to tell you something, but I don’t know if I should.” She tried to focus her scrambled mind on what Wayne was saying. “What is it?” “I have a friend who’s a busboy at Catalan’s.” Her eyes narrowed on his face. “How convenient.” Wayne sighed. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” He started to turn away. “Wait, Wayne. What did you busboy friend say?” He turned back to her. “He said the man we know as El didn’t sound like their guy. And something else is weird—they called him Al, not El.
