Mrs. Bamber doesn't seem bothered by it, though. If anything, she looks delighted. "Well, you're absolutely right. That girl is going to be so happy. You're an angel, Samantha."
I box up her order, take her money, and watch her go, feeling a strange little glow in my chest. Whatever this weirdness is, at least it’s doing some good. At least people are leaving happier than they came in.
The bakery’s busier than it’s ever been. Word’s gotten out, don’t ask me how, that The Bluebell Bakery is the place to go if you need a little comfort, or just something to make the day suck less. People drive in from towns I’ve never even heard of, and somehow, they always leave with exactly what they needed, even if they didn’t know what that was when they walked through the door.
Even my baking’s changed. Same recipes I’ve always used, but suddenly the bread is lighter, the cookies taste like actual heaven, and the pastries practically vanish on your tongue. Ella says it’s pregnancy magic, that I’m channeling all my maternal energy into the food. I’m not sure if I believe her, but I’m not about to argue with results.
But I’ve caught her watching me when she thinks I’m not looking. That little crease between her eyebrows, the way she keeps an eye on me like I might vanish if she blinks.
Speaking of Ella, she’s been around a lot more lately. Not that I’m complaining. Having her here makes all the weirdness feel a little less overwhelming. If she’s seeing it too, maybe I’m not completely losing it.
The door opens again, and I look up from wiping down the counter, expecting another regular.
Instead, a woman walks in, and every hair on my arms stands up like I’ve just stuck my finger in a socket.
She’s old. Not just the usual small-town elderly, but ancient in a way that makes you wonder if she remembers when bread was invented. Her skin is so thin and pale it’s almost see-through, and her eyes are a cloudy gray, like the sky before a snowstorm. She moves slow, every step careful, and somehow the air in the bakery feels heavier just because she’s in the room.
"Good morning," I manage, though my voice comes out thinner than I'd like. "What can I get for you?"
The woman doesn't respond. She shuffles to one of the small tables near the window and sits down, her movements stiff and mechanical. When she finally speaks, her voice is like dry leaves scraping against pavement.
"Coffee. Black."
I make her coffee with hands that want to shake. Every instinct I have is telling me to get as far away from her as possible, but I walk the cup over anyway, because apparently I’m a glutton for punishment.
She doesn't look at the coffee. She doesn't look at me.
She looks at my stomach.
And she stares.
It’s not a glance, or even curiosity. She stares at my belly with a focus that makes my skin crawl, like she’s trying to see straight through to the baby inside.
I take a step back. "Is there anything else you need?"
No response. Just that unblinking stare.
My heart’s pounding. The baby kicks hard, like she’s trying to get away from something, and I find myself wrapping both arms around my stomach, as if that’ll help.
"Ma'am?" My voice cracks. "Is everything okay?"
The woman's lips move, forming words too quiet for me to hear. But I swear I see her mouth the word "impossible."
My breathing goes shallow, little gasps that don’t do much good. The edges of my vision blur, and I’m teetering on the edgeof a full-blown panic attack when Ella’s voice slices through the haze.
"Sam, hey, go to the back for a minute, okay?" Her hand is on my shoulder, firm and grounding. "I've got this."
I don’t argue. I bolt for the kitchen, press my back to the wall, and try to remember how to breathe like a normal person. Through the little window in the door, I watch Ella lean down to talk to the woman, her whole posture screaming ‘don’t mess with my people.’
Whatever she says, it's brief. The woman stands, leaves her untouched coffee on the table, and walks out without a backward glance.
Ella appears in the kitchen doorway moments later. "You okay?"
"Who was that?" I ask, still clutching my stomach.
"No idea. But she's gone now." Ella crosses to me, putting her hands on my shoulders. "Just breathe, Sam. In through your nose, out through your mouth. That's it."
I follow her instructions, feeling my heartbeat gradually slow. "She was staring at the baby."
