Maeve's whole face lit up. "Mint? Small world! I'm allergic, too. No way. This bakery is a mint-free zone. I can barely stand the smell myself, to be honest."
Relief poured through me. I hadn't even realized how tense I'd gotten. The first three months after Mere's ER scare, I'd checked every label twice, sometimes calling restaurants just to be sure. "You may have saved my sanity."
She smiled, and as she did, she started working a new batch of dough, pinching in little flecks of, was that orange peel? She moved fast, but every so often she'd add a mysterious powder or a drop from a tiny glass vial, almost like she was seasoning potions instead of pastries.
Her movements drew you in. There was something comforting in the way she worked, totally unhurried, like she had nowhere else to be. It made the whole shop feel safe, somehow.
We chatted as my spine finally relaxed. Maeve told meabout her grandmother starting the bakery and how, for a few years, she'd tried to leave Laurel Gap, but the mountains always called her back. It was easy to admit more than I intended. I told her about moving for the fieldwork, but also needing to get the girls out of the city. How Fifi had some "health struggles," though I didn't give specifics. That was her story to share, not mine.
Maeve just nodded, no questions, no awkward pity. "Sometimes, a slower place helps. Laurel Gap's seen plenty of folks start over. Some plants just need the right soil, you know?"
She scooped little pinches of seeds atop the meat pies, humming as she worked.
I watched her, curiosity getting the better of me. "Do you always add stuff at the very end? Those look special."
She chuckled. "Family secret. Some people say it makes the flavor 'bloom.' I think it's just a habit, honestly."
It looked a lot like magic, but I wasn't about to say it out loud and look like a lunatic. Everything from here had tasted great.
She reached below the counter and came up with a flyer printed on pastel blue. "Next Tuesday is our free cooking night. I teach everyonefrom first graders to retirees. If your girls want in, all you have to do is show up. No fees, no equipment needed. Just bring an appetite."
I took the paper. "Thanks. I think they'd love that."
She packed everything up and handed over the bag with both hands, smiling as if she was giving me a present instead of a lunch. The scent rising from the boxes was enough to drive anyone wild. Orange, cinnamon, and a hint of savory.
As I stepped toward the door, something strange happened. The warmth ticked up, wrapping around my shoulders like a weighted blanket just for a split second. My muscles relaxed, my heart stopped racing. My thoughts quieted.
Probably just the sugar. Or maybe it was the bakery smell. Or Maeve's undemanding chatting.
Whatever it was, I could still feel it when I stepped out onto the sidewalk with the boxes in my arms. A low, glowing comfort. I'd read that smells could do that to you. I needed to figure out which and spray it all around the house.
Chance
I got homefrom the flight still juiced on altitude, my whole body vibrating under the surface. Shifting back never felt simple, not for me. There was always a little bit of the dragon left, scales itching right under my skin, vision too sharp, every nerve wired. I tossed on old jeans and a black t-shirt, swiped a cloth over my jaw, and figured a walk to the mailbox would feel nice.
No such luck.
Halfway down the porch steps, I saw them. Two figures, definitely human, crouched by the creek that snaked at the edge of my property. They looked official. One with high rubber boots, the other in a neon vest so bright it belonged at a runway and not the fashion kind.
My heart dropped into my gut. That was private land, and nobody, not even mail carriers, came back here without a signed invitation. Our mailbox was out at the main road, a fifteen-minute walk from the house.
If I'd looped low on my landing, they would've seen the whole dragon show. Maybe they already had. My hands started to sweat.
Caden rumbled against my ribs.They're trespassing.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Livia. I didn't want to. Our last conversation had ended with both of us ready to bite steel. But I had to find out if she knew anything about these people on our land.
She answered on the second ring, her voice right out of an etiquette textbook. "Chance, darling. I'm so glad you called."
I didn't even breathe before I cut her off. "Are you expecting a government team on my land? There are two people by the creek right now. Orange vests, water sampling, the whole kit."
There was a pause. I could picture her in her kitchen, chin tilted just so, painfully perfect. She hesitated, but this time she sounded almost soft. "Is this about the conversation we had? Because I've been thinking?—"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Mom, I'm not calling for your apology. I just need to know if you let anyone onto the property."
She let out a breath. I could hear the relief and the disappointment braided together. "Oh, wait, yes. Yes, I did. The hellbender conservation organization contacted me last month for stream access. I told them we'd support their research. I meant to tell you, but well, I'm sorry. I forgot."
The word "hellbender" flipped the switch. Electricity shot down my spine. Hellbender meant salamanders. Salamanders meant Tash. Heat shot through me so fast it almost stole my breath. That same unmistakable spark I'd only ever felt once came roaring back, fierce and demanding. I didn't want to name it. I didn't need to. My body already knew exactly what it meant.
