“Most exciting breakfast I’ve had in years,” the old woman crowed, tottering away with her purchase.
Then Oli decided to help.
He arrived midmorning, as if summoned by Maude’s rage, sweeping through the door with the smug energy of a man who had never once in his life been told to leave. He carried a basket of suspiciously expensive wine and was dressed like a romance-novel hero—loose shirt, boots that gleamed, hair swept back artfully.
“Ithought the newlyweds might be thirsty,” he announced, ignoring the fact that Maude looked one tantrum away from setting the curtains ablaze.
“Perfect timing,” Wesley said, grinning. “Grab an apron.”
Maude nearly hexed them both. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutelyyes,” Oli countered, already tying the strings around his waist.
The next hour was hell.
Oli had the attention span of a magpie and the chaos of a hurricane. He stole spells and enchanted piping bags to refill endlessly—“So efficient!”—and within minutes frosting geysers erupted, coating the ceiling in pink swirls and dripping onto Maude’s tonics. Wesley doubled over laughing as Grim launched himself onto the counter, skidding through the icing like a sled, and knocked two bottles straight into Wesley’s rising dough.
The dough promptly sprouted legs.
Six sticky muffins leapt off the counter and began marching toward the door like a buttered army. Oli clapped like a delighted child. “It’s a parade!”
Maude shouted herself hoarse while Grim pounced on each muffin, growling with such ferocity that frosting splattered across the walls.
And the worst part? Somewhere in the frosting storm, Maude realized they were laughing together.HerOliver—her greedy, chaotic, loyal Oli—was actually bonding with the bakery bastard.
The horror nearly felled her on the spot.
After that, things blurred together into a week-long nightmare. Cupcakes that oozed shadows. A pie that wouldn’t stop screaming every time someone cut into it—high-pitched, dramatic, eventually punted into the alley. Sugar mice sank their teeth into Wesley’s hand and scattered into the flour bins, tails whipping like banners. Jam jars whispered petty secrets Maude never wanted to know (“Your neighbor steals spoons”), while a broom tried to unionize with the rolling pins, demanding “fair sweeping hours.” A child who ate a cursed eclair floated tothe ceiling and refused to come down until Maude reversed it—while her parents applauded like it was theater.
The shop filled daily with gawkers. The Elixir Emporium, once comfortably desolate, now teemed with tourists who laughed at the “Haunted Bakery.” Some bought pastries. Others demanded potions with candied pearls. Against her better judgment, Maude let a few coin purses lighten her shelves.
Maude’s terms of truce—the painstakingly written list she’d taped behind the counter—proved worse than useless. “No humming,” it said. Wesley hummed anyway, and every time he did, the dough rose higher. One morning he whistled an entire ballad, and the bread inflated so violently the oven door snapped off. “No tampering with experiments.” He tampered constantly, sneaking spoonfuls of frosting into her cauldrons “for science.”
By the seventh day, she was ready to commit homicide. And then Wesley stopped laughing. It was subtle at first. One evening, when Oli tried to charm her into letting him host “themed evenings” in the shop—“Haunted Tea Tuesdays!”complete with an interpretive dance she refused to dignify by describing—Wesley’s voice cut in.
“That’s enough, Oliver.”
Maude stilled mid-glare. Oli blinked like someone had just slapped him with a trout.
“She’s not a spectacle.” Wesley’s voice wasn’t raised, but it carried, firm enough to cut through the clutter of shelves and half-baked curses. “She’s holding this place together with blood and string, and you’re treating it like a game.”
Oli’s easy grin faltered, guilt flashing across his face. “I was only?—”
“No.” Wesley scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling. “I know you mean well. And I’ve been an ass too.” His eyes flicked toward Maude, and the quiet there made her stomach dip. “Sorry.” He didn’t look away from her.
Maude swallowed, fingers tightening on the edge of the counter.
Wesley finally turned back to Oli, pointing toward the door. “Out. Let her breathe.”
Oli stared at him for a beat too long, then glanced at Maude like maybe she’d swoop in and rescue him. She didn’t. She just arched a brow, daring him to test it.
With an exaggerated sigh, Oli raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. But for the record, Haunted Tea Tuesdays would’ve been legendary.” He left without another word. The door shut, and silence crashed down.
Maude turned on Wesley. “You don’t get to?—”
“I wasn’t defending you,” he interrupted, wiping his flour-dusted hands. “I was defending the shop.” Then he shrugged, rolling his sleeves higher as he turned back to the ruined counter. “And you looked like you were about to break. Didn’t seem fair.”
Her chin lifted a fraction but the fight slipped out of her. It was a small thing, what he’d said, but it was more than she’d expected.
