Chapter 1
Liam
Most people imaginea bakery in the morning as peaceful, calm, and cozy. They’re wrong.
Mine starts with my six-year-old knocking over her backpack and waking the dead.
“It’s heavy,” she complains as it hits the floor with a thud that echoes through the place.
“It has two crayons in it,” I tell her, flipping on the front lights.
“And a snack,” she replies sassily.
“Which you’re not supposed to pack.”
“Daddy, can I sit at my table?” she asks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Her hair’s a mess. She looks like she slept upside down.
“Yes,” I say, locking the door behind us. “Please. That would be great.”
She wanders to the small corner table we’ve unofficially claimed as hers, pulling out crayons that spill across the wood. She doesn’t seem to care, she rarely does.
I walk to the pastry case, mentally reviewing the morning checklist. The festival starts in three days, which means everything is already behind. I’m already behind. I barely sleptthanks to a late-night equipment issue and Maisie insisting on sleeping in my bed because the wind sounded like a ghost trying to blow our house down.
I told her ghosts weren’t real, she didn’t believe me and thus ensued an hour-long discussion on why ghosts aren’t real.
Right now, I'm running on fumes.
I’m halfway through assessing the front display when I notice it. A gap. A very specific gap where a muffin should be.
I take a slow breath. “Maisie.”
She hums, not looking up.
“Did you take a muffin last night?”
There’s a pause, and I see that heat starts to spread through her cheeks. “No,” she says without looking up at me.
It’s a terrible lie.
“Try again.”
She glances up at me, her cheeks flaming red at this point. “Maybe I took one. A little one.”
“Muffins are one size.”
“Well… I took one size.”
I approach her table and crouch down. “Where is it?”
Her tiny hand slides into her backpack, and she pulls out the muffin like a guilty criminal handing over stolen goods. The wrapper is crinkled and the top is half flattened.
“It was my emergency food,” she says quietly, like that excuses the crime.
“What emergency were you preparing for?”
“A hungry one.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. Laughing will make her think she can get away with this again.
