1
Charlie
The sack over my head smells like off-brand laundry detergent and questionable life choices, which is honestly very on theme for my life.
“Oh my god,” I whisper into the darkness. “Is this…a kidnapping?”
Of course, on the one day I promise myself I’ll relax and let my guard down, this happens.
Today is supposed to be easy. Low stress. Maybe even fun.
I’ve been running myself ragged the last few weeks with my microbakery, Charlie’s Batter Co. From early mornings to late nights, flour in my hair, butter under my fingernails, and dishes covered in sourdough. They pile high in my sink, orders stacked up so high that my little kitchen looks like the set ofThe Great British Bake Off:Panic Edition. Between sourdough loaves, custom cookie boxes, and Mrs. Thomason’s third “emergency” lemon cake of the month, I am barely keeping my head above buttercream.
Not that I mind, exactly. I love it. After the mountain of rejection emails I got from every Montessori school in the metro, moving back home to Everly Falls and starting my small microbakery felt like the breath of fresh air I desperately needed.
My small town is nestled between rolling hills and a canopy of old oak and maple trees, the kind that turn Main Street into a tunnel of gold and crimson every fall—the perfect backdrop for those Hallmark movies.
No matter where you’ve been, the community here will always be there for you. They have a way of folding you back and reminding you who you are when everything else feels like it’s spinning off course. I thought a degree in early childhood development was my calling, but now I’m not so sure.
Baking has been my little haven, keeping me grounded from all the what-ifs. It started as a little experiment in my small kitchen, something to do to keep my mind and hands busy. I didn’t expect the success I would have from it. It helps that my town was determined to see me succeed. What began with a few locals ordering sourdough loaves then blossomed into a full-blown onlinebusiness when my best friend, Jade, used her marketing skills to grow my online presence. Now, I manage online orders, feature in a few online articles, and am the town’s official baker. It is small, but it’s turning into something that is actually growing. Something that I am proud of. Something I callmy own.
I’m saving every spare dollar, tucking it away, because one day soon, I’m going to trade in the chaos of my cramped apartment kitchen for a storefront in the heart of Main Street—right next to The Lantern Nook, our local bookstore. This way, all the book lovers like myself can come and enjoy a sweet treat while diving into the worlds of brooding mafia men.A girl can dream.
But for now, I need a break. The stress of keeping up with the orders by myself and the knowledge of a vacancy available for my shop has been keeping me up at night. I’m on my second cup of coffee this morning and it’s only eight am. A relaxing morning is long overdue, and nothing screams “relaxing morning” more than walking down Main Street.
I love this time of year in Everly Falls. The hustle and bustle of Main Street as the town prepares for our annual Christmas in the Falls. The sun is peaking through this morning, providing some warmth to a normally frosty morning. The cold front creates the perfect nip in the air. Storefront windows glow warmly against the cool breeze,and twinkling lights hang from every tree and awning, making it impossible not to enjoy the morning.
It’s the perfect morning for my outing with Claire at the town’s bookstore. Mrs. Whitaker has been running the place since I was a toddler, coming in for Saturday story time with my mom. She is like a second grandmother to me, and I still try to visit a few times a month, especially since her grandson and only living relative hasn’t been back since he left for his town. Something tells me that when he finally does, things in Everly Falls won’t be the same, but that’s not my story to share.
Who’s Claire, you might ask. Claire is my built-in forever ride or die. Being an identical twin does that to you. She was born only three minutes before me, but she acts like the “older” sister—always on me about making sure I eat, having clean clothes, and lately, carving out time for myself. She is a big believer in taking care of your mental health, and I am so thankful she’s looking out for me. That’s the beauty of having a twin; they have a sixth sense about what you need.
Now, if only other habits of hers rubbed off on me. Claire has always been the “put-together” one. She knew early on she wanted to be a sports photographer and worked tirelessly to get there. The girl even has her whole life mapped out on an Excel sheet. When she made me a budget tracker for my microbakery, I lasted two daysbefore deleting it. The anxiety it gave me was not worth it. To this day, she still doesn’t know I’m basically flying blind with my business. Future Charlie can deal with tax season when it comes.
And yes, you heard that right. Claire and Charlie. Or Charlotte, if we’re using my government name. Our parents thought matching names were adorable. As we got older, though, the Bennett twins were anything but identical. Sure, we both inherited our mom’s chestnut hair, chocolate-brown eyes, high cheekbones, and were lucky to receive her olive-toned complexion as biracial children of a Vietnamese mother and African American father, but that’s where the similarities end.
Claire is reserved and demure; she takes Pilates classes, goes on hot girl walks, and makes sure only the best goes into her body—minus the occasional sourdough chocolate chip cookies she’ll eat when stressed. Me, on the other hand, well, I’m more of a do-what-makes-you-happy person. And cardio? Does not make me happy. Sourdough fudge brownies? Definitely makes me happy. I’m not as toned as Claire, but I do try to make the occasional trip to the gym when time allows. I have to at least offset the sugar intake from taste testing my own creations.
Ever since I moved back home, we’ve been seeing less and less of each other with her busier schedule. She had a huge piece take off when she captured the perfectangle of a player going down during an injury at the annual Eagleton University versus Brooksdale Medical Center charity flag football. Her boss, Mick, has been sending her to more in-person sporting events. I can’t wait to catch her up on everything. She’s doing amazing at work, and her love life is thriving with her new boyfriend, Eli.
Unlike me, I turned twenty-six in August this year, and honestly? My life looks nothing like the Pinterest board I once made for myself.
No job. No husband. No family of my own. Not a single prospect insight.
By now, I thought I’d at least have one of those boxes checked. The only man in my life is Doughbi-Wan, my little sourdough starter, the heart of my microbakery. Without him, I wouldn’t be here. He is the one constant in my life. Real men let you down—ask my previous boyfriends.
Wait, what is happening again? Oh, right, being kidnapped.
2
Aiden
Bringing my hand over my face, I try to shield the sun from my eyes on this crisp morning as I exhale and contemplate my life decision. The sun is just peeking through the gray clouds and wrapping me in a fleeting warmth. I’m sitting outside The Crimson Cup, a small coffee shop on the corner of Main Street, taking a sip of my white chocolate peppermint mocha. I know, it sounds like a total girlie drink, but when the barista said it was like a warm Christmas hug, I couldn’t resist. I get enough black coffee at the hospital to last a lifetime, so when I finally escape for a cup, I let myself indulge in whatever the season’s hyped-up treat happens to be.
This part of town is nice, now that it’s morning and I can see Main Street better. I walked Main Street last night to do some reconnaissance of the area, trying to figure outthe best place to snatch her. Storefronts are decorated with wreaths and garlands, and the soft hum of holiday music floats through the air. It has a sort of Hallmark charm, making it calm, cozy, and inviting. The scent of fresh palms lingers in the air, a breath of calm I needed from the busy, bustling city life. Between long hours at the hospital, weekends volunteering, residency applications, and taking care of my new puppy, Jake, I am exhausted. All I want is a nice, relaxing weekend, which begs the question of why I agreed to this kidnapping ploy.
Outside the coffee shop, a couple walks hand in hand into the boutique, and children giggle as they dodge around people hustling down the sidewalk. This is the perfect day to execute this kidnapping; the town’s annualChristmas in the Fallsprep is in full swing, and with the crowd, I can easily get to her without anyone noticing.
Sipping my coffee, I savor the sweetness of white chocolate pairing perfectly with the peppermint note—the barista was right, this is like Christmas in a cup. I scan up and down the streets out of habit, my eyes darting between the shops and crowd when I spot her prancing toward the bookstore.
