The business lettersat on Hannah's desk like a bomb waiting to detonate. Crisp corporate letterhead, precise typing, polite words that could end everything.
We would like to make an offer on your property...
Hannah's fingers trembled as she read it again. Sunshine Coffee Company. A chain that had been slowly buying up small-town locations across the state. They wanted Sugar & Spice—not the business, just the building. Just the bones of her grandmother's legacy.
The number at the bottom of the page made her chest tight.
It was more than enough. More than she'd ever dreamed of having. Enough to start over somewhere else, somewhere people didn't whisper when she walked by, somewhere her name wasn't tainted by her father's crimes.
The morning sun slanted through the bakery windows, painting everything in shades of gold. Usually, this was her favorite time of day—the scent of fresh bread wrapping around her like a warm blanket.
But today, the warmth felt hollow.
She'd spent the night going over the books again. And again. The numbers didn't lie. Business was down. Way down. Between canceled orders and lost regulars, she was barely keeping the lights on.
The copper wind chimes her mother had hung years ago tinkled softly in the breeze. Hannah closed her eyes, remembering her grandmother's voice:"Sugar & Spice isn't just a business, sweetheart. It's the heart of this town."
But maybe the town didn't want their heart anymore.
She stood, moving to the display case on autopilot. Her reflection ghosted across the glass—dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled back severely, none of the joy that used to radiate from her when she worked.
The case was half-empty. No point making full batches anymore when most of it would go to waste.
"Maybe this town is better off without Sugar & Spice," she whispered to her reflection.
The words felt like betrayal in her mouth. But weren't they true? The town had made their feelings clear. They didn't trust her. Didn't want her father's daughter serving their coffee, baking their wedding cakes, being part of their lives.
The bell above the door chimed.
Hannah turned, automatic smile fixed in place—then froze.
"Good morning, dear." Mrs. Matthews' voice was soft, hesitant. "I was hoping..."
Hannah's heart squeezed. "Your usual?"
Mrs. Matthews nodded, and for a moment—one perfect moment—everything felt normal. Hannah reached for the display case, muscle memory taking over.
Then she saw it.
Empty shelf. No Danish.
Because she hadn't made them. Hadn't seen the point when no one was buying them.
"I'm so sorry." The words felt like ash in her mouth. "I didn't—I haven't been?—"
Mrs. Matthews' face fell slightly. "Oh. Well. Perhaps another time then."
She turned to leave, and something in Hannah cracked.
This was what giving up looked like. Empty shelves. Disappointed faces. A legacy crumbling one missing pastry at a time.
Her eyes fell on the corporate letter, still sitting on her desk. The answer to all her problems. An escape route. A fresh start.
But her grandmother's voice echoed in her head:"Sugar & Spice isn't just a business."
It was home.
It was family.
