When he reached the farm he checked for any damage but there was nothing major except a couple of loose boards. A stretch of fencing down.
Nothing he couldn’t fix.
Physical labor helped.
It burned off excess fire.
Cleared his head.
He fed the animals, repaired what he could, and wiped sweat from his brow with a cloth.
He was just heading back to the house when the sound of a car engine cut through the quiet.
Rhavor stepped forward as the vehicle crested the dirt road, rolling to a dusty stop. It wasn’t a local car. The engine cut off with a metallic click that sounded too loud in the morning air.
The driver’s door opened.
Storm-dark curls spilled over a leather jacket.
His eyes narrowed.
Ronda.
She stepped out slowly, her white shoes sinking slightly into the damp dirt.
“Well, hello,” she said lightly, her gaze sweeping over him.
It seemed last night’s storm had been nothing compared to the one that had just arrived this morning.
Chapter 13: Sylvie
The Honeybloom Festival was only a few days away, and her head was so crowded with recipes and what-ifs that sleep had become a lost cause.
She had given up on her pillows before the first gray streak of sunrise bled across the sky and headed straight for the bakery.
She tied her hair back.
Made her first coffee.
Set about waking the ovens.
For the wood-fired one, she shoved a couple of oak logs into the firebox until the calming, rhythmic hum of flame filled the space.
While Seth’s interior design choices had been a complete train wreck, the kitchen setup was surprisingly practical.
The equipment wasn’t state-of-the-art, but it was well maintained. The ovens, while not top-tier, were solid. Dependable. More than good enough for her to work with.
The festival menu was ambitious.
Strawberry tartelettes.
Salted caramel chocolate éclairs.
A zesty yuzu cake with glossy citrus glaze.
She rolled out the last batch of pastry with practiced ease, wrapped it tight, and slid it into the fridge to rest. Then she reached for the long wooden paddle and yanked a tray of buns from the wood-fired oven.
In her old life, her ovens had been sleek, digital masterpieces, operating with one-degree precision.
