The bell rings, and I look up automatically, expecting another customer with a latte order. Instead, the entire bakery seems to take a collective breath.
The woman in the doorway is not what I expected. Not by a long shot.
Sunlight catches in her hair, making it look like spun honey and gold, the kind of color a photographer would spend hours trying to capture. She wears a denim jacket over a fitted top, and her smile could reroute traffic. She has a camera bag hanging from her shoulder, and she scans the room as if she's collectinga mood board in real-time; her eyes are bright, assessing, and warm all at once.
And she smells like citrus and something else that I can smell even from here. It’s something that hits the back of my throat in a way that feels dangerous.
Behind me, Evan makes a quiet sound. "Oh, Dylan's in trouble."
I ignore him because my brain has temporarily stopped processing language.
She walks toward the counter with easy confidence, and I watch every step as if my life depends on memorizing the rhythm. When she reaches me, she offers a bright, open smile that does something unfortunate to my pulse.
"Hi," she says. "I'm Piper. You must be the artist."
I blink. My brain needs a second to reboot.
"The artist," she repeats, nodding toward my cake. "This is incredible, the piping is gorgeous."
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. I clear my throat and find my voice somewhere under the pile of incoherent thoughts. "Dylan. I'm Dylan Hayes."
"The Decorator," Evan supplies helpfully, leaning over my shoulder. "Don't let him downplay it; he's the best in Montana."
I shoot Evan a look that promises retribution later.
Piper's smile widens. "Well, Dylan the Decorator, I'm here to capture content for the Heart-to-Heart Festival. I’m looking for behind-the-scenes footage, interviews, and promotional material. The committee said you're creating the signature showpiece?"
"That's the plan," I manage.
"Perfect." She shifts her bag higher on her shoulder. "Before we start, I want to establish boundaries. I don't film anyone without their permission, I never post customers' faces withoutconsent, and I always run footage by the people in it before it goes live."
Something in my chest loosens. I wasn't expecting that.
"No filming my daughter without my approval," I say, testing the boundary. "No shots of her face in any public posts, and I want to review anything that shows more than just my hands."
"Completely fair," she says without hesitation. "Your space, your rules."
I study her for a moment. She holds my gaze steadily, like she understands why I'm being careful and doesn't take it personally.
"All right," I say. "We can work with that."
Before I can say anything else, Maddie's voice carries across the room, loud and awed: "Daddy, look, a cupcake fairy."
I close my eyes briefly. Of course, when I open them, Piper is already crouching down to Maddie's level, completely unbothered by the flour smudge on my daughter's face or the sprinkles in her hair.
"Hi," Piper says warmly. "What's your name?"
"Maddie. Do you like sprinkles?"
Piper grins. "I love sprinkles, they're like tiny happiness bombs."
Maddie gasps as if Piper just spoke the secret language of the universe. "Daddy says they're messy."
"He's very responsible," Piper stage-whispers. "But messy is fun."
Maddie giggles, and the sound pulls at something in my chest I thought I'd locked away.
Piper straightens and catches me watching. Her eyes are bright, amused, and maybe a little knowing. "She's wonderful."
