I turned in, parked, and took a few deep breaths before I got out, determined not to let the stress follow me inside.
Opening the door to the bakery was like stepping inside a cinnamon bun. The punch of vanilla, orange, and something floral I couldn't put my finger on. Cardamom, maybe? Hard to say. The air vibrated with so many warm, sweet notes it almost felt like a hug.
I let myself breathe, really breathe. The weight in my chest loosened just a little.
Behind the counter, Maeve worked with a rhythm that was pure muscle memory. Twist, fold, punch, sprinkle, every movement so smooth I wondered if she even knew she was doing it. She smiled at me. "I'll just be a moment."
The display case was full, thankfully. Someone had just refilled the hand pies. Golden, glossy, and stacked with military precision. Three types, each labeled in neat handwriting on little folded cards. Bacon & Egg, Traditional Beef Pasty, and Chicken Pot Pie with tarragon and carrot. Not a hint of green in sight for thegarnish, which was probably intentional. These were the kind of pies you bought for hungry teenagers or folks who'd just finished a twelve-hour shift. Both categories applied to my household.
I snapped a quick photo on my phone and sent it to the girls.
What do you want?
The urge to order one of everything was strong. I was still mentally composing my shopping list when my screen lit up with a reply.
Fifi replied first.
all of them!! (but the bacon and egg one looks really good)
Two seconds later, Mere chimed in.
Beef pasty, please. And something sweet if they have the cinnamon rolls?
It made me smile. Even when they were shaken up, the twins' priorities, meat for fuel, sugar for comfort, didn't waver.
I dragged my focus back to the counter, where Maeve was already watching with a kind smile.
"Rough day?" she asked, voice low and warm, like she already knew.
"You could say that." I tried to match her energy, but my exhaustion probably showed. "I'll take one of each of the meat pies, please. And do you have cinnamon rolls? Someone at home will mutiny if I say no."
"Of course! And you're in luck, I just pulled a pan from the oven. Do you want regular or dragon fire?" She waggled her eyebrows on the last two words, inviting me to share the joke.
I grinned. "Two dragon fires and one regular for me. The girls like it spicy."
She winked. "They passed the test, then. Around here, that's how we separate the locals from the tourists."
Boxing up the order, she leaned forward. "So how are you settling in?"
"We're fine. The house is adorable, and the girls haven't mutinied yet. I just wish my desk job was a little more local." I tucked an errant hair behind my ear, feeling suddenly silly for mentioning it.
Maeve nodded, adding a few more rolls to the box. Two dragon fires, one regular. "I remember you mentioned the hellbender project."
I blinked. Nobody in Knoxville ever seemed to carewhat I did. "Yes! I mean, yeah." I found myself warming to her, fast. "We thought moving closer would mean less driving, but the main field stuff is still in the middle of nowhere. Most of my days are spent elbow-deep in river sludge or hunched over a spreadsheet. Sometimes both at the same time."
She snorted, and for a moment, it felt like gossiping with an old friend. "Well, you picked the right time to move here. Did you know there's a meeting at Town Hall about the newest SkyArc permit next Monday? The whole valley'll be there. I heard environmental folks might want to speak up. It's a huge development they want to get started on."
That caught my attention. "Do you know what time?"
"Seven sharp," she said, then added, "They do cookies and coffee, so people show up. Free food is like catnip around here."
I filed away the date, fighting off a little stab of hope. Maybe somebody in town cared about the water as much as I did. "I think I might try and speak. There's a lot of public data on SkyArc. They're not exactly gentle giants."
Maeve grinned, dusting her hands with flour. "Good! Someone needs to say it. Thelast engineer who tried just read from a pamphlet and put half the council to sleep."
I liked her more by the minute.
She slid my boxes across the counter, but before I grabbed them, something pinged in my brain. "Oh, random question, do you use any mint in your pastries? My girls are both allergic. It's weird, I know."
