“Next time you want something,” I say gently, “you ask me.”
She nods solemnly. “Okay, Daddy.”
I kiss the top of her head, stand, and head to the counter. Behind me, she immediately starts humming again, crisis forgotten.
The back kitchen door swings open and Mark steps into the front with a tray of dough. He looks awake. Too awake.
“Morning,” he says, then spots the mangled muffin in my hand. “Oh. Rough start.”
“I’m living the dream.”
He grins. “At least she didn’t get into the macarons this time.”
“Why would you say that out loud?”
“Manifesting positivity.”
“That’s not what manifesting is.”
He shrugs and goes back to the kitchen. I shake my head and return to the display, checking for further signs of Maisie’s midnight snack spree.
So far, the rest is intact. A miracle.
I’m adjusting the angle of a tray when Maisie speaks again.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
She’s drawing a picture of… something. A blob. A stick person. A heart. I’ll decode it later.
“Do you think the festival lady will like cookies?”
“I assume so.”
“What if she doesn’t?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Then she’ll be wrong,” I say. “But we’ll be polite about it.”
Maisie rests her chin on her palm and stares at her drawing like she’s working through something. “I hope she’s nice.”
I touch her hair. “Me too.”
She leans into my hand for a second, then goes back to coloring, humming rather off-key but still adorable.
I return to prepping for opening, moving through the familiar motions. Checking labels, running through inventorynotes, setting out the morning coffee carafes. The early customers will come soon, especially with the festival pulling tourists into town. People are already walking around outside despite the wind still howling.
I’m wiping down the counter when the bell above the front door rings.
I look up.
And everything inside me tightens.
A woman steps in, brushing hair from her face as she glances around. She smiles, it’s a small, warm smile like she’s happy to be here. Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, she’s wearing a pale blouse tucked into dark pants, and she’s holding a clipboard.
She scans the bakery and nods, like she’s pleasantly surprised. Usually that look only shows up when someone’s already eyeing the cupcakes with the extra frosting.
Maisie sits up straight in her chair, watching her with cautious fascination. That’s my first clue this woman is about to complicate my morning.
