She managed a brittle half-smile. "You never know if there's an emergency."
But the phone kept going, and her eyes kept wandering toward it like maybe the incoming texts signaled something more.
"I mean it." I leaned across the counter so she'd have to look at me. "Who's blowing up your phone? You're not usually this jumpy."
Mom straightened, eyes narrowing in a way that reminded me of every fight we ever had about business, money, or the correct way to fold a fitted sheet. "It's just an old friend. We're planning a surprise, that's all."
She smoothed her coat sleeve while she talked. Nerves, definitely nerves. If Mom was fidgeting, the world was absolutely off its axis. She was much more upset than she was pretending.
Strangely, that made me feel better. She wasn't the best at showing it, but she did care about what happened and my daughters. Her granddaughters.
"What kind of surprise?" I prodded.
She clicked her tongue, arranging the eggs into a perfect triangle. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. Besides, you wouldn't find it interesting."
My skin prickled. The dough on the counter suddenly looked like a punching bag instead of tomorrow's sandwich bread.
"Try me," I shot back. "Last time you tried to keep a secret, we ended up missing a chunk of family history."
Her nostrils flared, and she winced. "This is different."
Cadenshifted in my chest, all claws and heat. The urge to just grab the phone, scroll through the messages and make my point was so strong it actually made my hand twitch.
But I knew better than to try. Mom guarded her tech like a religious artifact. You could banter, bluff, even bully her, but under no circumstances did you actually touch her phone.
She noticed my glare. Her lips pinched tighter. "Let it go, darling. Please."
Motherneversaid please. Not unless she was about to body-slam you emotionally.
I backed off, but not by much. "Fine."
Her hands fluttered over the grocery bags, smoothing wrinkles that weren't there. She finally looked up, but her gaze skidded past mine, landing somewhere over my shoulder. Classic Mom tactic. Engage, but never commit.
Before the tension could crest, the front bell chimed.
I wiped my hands, peeled off my apron, and strode to the display case. Mom followed, posture shifting from brittle to regal in two steps.
Standing in the entry were two men. Dark suits, winter coats, perfect haircuts, and shoes that would never survive a real December in the mountains. Onewas taller, jaw sharp as obsidian, and the other shorter but with piercing eyes that scanned the bakery like a security camera. Both carried leather portfolios and confident smirks.
"Good morning!" The tall one flashed teeth that probably came with a warranty. "Are you the owner?"
I held his gaze. "Yeah. I'm Chance Meyer. Can I help you?"
He paused a fraction too long, like he expected someone older, or more female, or maybe just floury. Like, maybe, Maeve. But us being co-owners was a matter of public record.
"Excellent. I'm Greg Thornton. This is my associate, Mr. Bennett. We're from SkyArc Development." He produced a card, setting it on the marble with a little tap. "We wanted to catch you for a quick chat about some exciting opportunities coming to Laurel Gap."
His sidekick never blinked. Just sized up every inch of the bakery. The display case, the chairs, the weird old dragon-themed sign above the register.
I played along, picking up the card and pretending to care. "Go on."
Greg launched into the pitch. "We've been reviewing all the local businesses within a ten-mile radius. Laurel Gap's seeing a lot of growth, especiallywith the uptick in tourism. We're putting together a proposal for a new shopping outlet at the east end of town. It'll be state-of-the-art, multi-tenant, a mix of local and national brands."
I didn't bother to hide my skepticism. "So, what? You want to put a Sweet Dragon Bakery in a strip mall next to a gas station and a Sub Shack?"
The shorter man, Bennett, smiled like I'd proven his point. "We're actually interested in making sure homegrown places like this are the anchor tenants. Locals don't trust chains unless there's some genuine flavor, you know? Besides, most of them can't compete with your cinnamon rolls. We heard about those."
Flattery, already. I hated this dance.
