Chapter 1
Dylan
The morning rushhits Spice Spice Baby like it always does: hard, fast, and smelling like cinnamon sugar dreams.
The bell above the door jingles every forty seconds. The line spills halfway down the block, past the Corner Diner where half these customers probably ate breakfast an hour ago, past the bookshop with its hand-painted Read Between the Vines sign, all the way to the festival banners flapping in the spring wind.
Inside, the air hums with the scent of espresso, warm pastry, and a hundred different conversations happening at once.
I settle into my usual rhythm at the decorating station, piping red velvet rosettes on a custom anniversary cake. My hands move automatically, I rotate the stand, apply pressure, release, repeat. Behind me, Maddie hums at the small table we set up near the counter, and the guys yell over the coffee grinders like they're competing in an unofficial shouting championship.
In other words, it's a normal Wednesday in Valentine.
I pipe the next row, then lean back to check the symmetry. Perfect. The rosettes should look identical from every angle because details matter. Clean work matters. Predictable routines matter.
"Daddy, look." Maddie lifts a sheet of paper toward me with sticky fingers and an even stickier smile. She has managed to get sprinkles on her cheeks, which is impressive because we weren't using sprinkles this morning.
I set the piping bag aside and take the paper. She's drawn a cake with a hundred hearts floating above it. Her hearts never look the same, but she insists each one belongs to a different person in Valentine.
"This is the festival cake," she declares. "Because everyone's gonna fall in love when they see it."
I laugh and kiss the top of her head. "The festival cake is going to look a little different, bug."
"No," she says confidently. "Mine is better."
The kid is never short on opinions.
Evan appears at my elbow, grinning like he knows something I don't. "Dylan, the Festival coordinator's here."
I glance toward the entrance. Gina from the Heart-to-Heart Festival committee is weaving through the line, her clipboard clutched like a life raft, looking more frazzled than usual.
"Dylan," she calls, reaching the counter. "I’ve got good news and bad news."
I brace myself. Those words never lead anywhere comfortable.
"The original event stylist had a family emergency," she says, slightly breathless. "So we hired someone new to help with the festival's branding and promotion. She's very experienced; she has a big-city portfolio and has worked festivals in Seattle and Portland. She should be here any minute to talk about filming content at the bakery."
My eye twitches. "Content? Like videos?"
"Yes! Reels, behind-the-scenes shots, interviews, that kind of thing. We need social media exposure." Gina beams as if this is the best news she's delivered all week.
I picture a stranger wandering around my kitchen with a camera while I'm elbow-deep in frosting. Then I picture them aiming it at Maddie, and my stomach knots immediately.
"Just so we're clear," I say carefully, "no one films Maddie without my explicit permission."
Gina pats my arm like she's soothing a startled horse. "Of course, of course. This woman seems very professional, you'll like her."
"Great," I mutter.
Evan snorts behind me. "Dylan likes approximately three people."
"Four," I correct. "Maddie, my mom, and the two of you on good days."
"Generous," Evan says.
I return to my rosettes, trying to ignore the uncomfortable prickle at the base of my neck.We don't need cameras in here. We don't need strangers disrupting the rhythm, and we certainly don't need attention.
What we need to do is finish this festival cake, keep the bakery running smoothly, and ensure Maddie has a stable, predictable environment where nothing unexpected crashes through the door and —
