“Marvelous.” Julian clapped his hands and tapped the unicorn’s horn.
Right on cue, the doorbell chimed. For one ridiculous, embarrassing heartbeat, Sylvie wondered if “magic” had actually summoned a dragon. Her heart did a hopeful little parkour move that made her pulse stutter.
Instead, Bobby’s voice boomed through the shop. “Hello there! Heard you might need an extra pair of hands!”
Behind him, a delivery truck was pulling away, having just dropped off the new furniture. Sylvie stared at the unicorn.Maybe Fred actually has some juice.
With Bobby’s help, they cleared out the heavy, dark shelving that had held Seth’s curiosities. They arranged the new wooden tables and upholstered chairs. Soft armchairs now hugged low coffee tables—vibey and inviting. Lighter shelves displayed cookbooks and jars of preserved citrus peel. Neatly bundledwheat sat in wicker baskets by the door. Behind the counter, the display cases waited, hungry for pastry.
The bakery was finally ready.
“What are these?” Bobby asked, lifting a framed certificate from a box. He whistled low as he read the calligraphy. “The Golden Star of Excellence… First Award for Pâtisserie… Wait. You're a Michelin-star pastry chef?”
Julian snatched the frame, eyes wide with a mix of fanboy energy and sudden dread. “I didn’t know I was working for a Michelin-star chef! I would have worn my best velvet vest and a tuxedo!”
“Then you would have ruined them with paint,” Sylvie said, taking the frames back. She ran her thumb along the cold glass, then flipped them facedown. “I left all that behind. It didn’t make me happy. I’d rather smell fresh bread than chase another ego-trip award.”
Julian’s expression softened. “That’s lovely, dear. But you should come out of the kitchen more. Relax. Have some fun.”
She smiled faintly. When she was stressed, she didn’t relax. She baked. And with the festival this weekend, she was about to start a marathon bake like her sanity depended on it.
She retreated to the kitchen. Her lemon tart needed more zing, and the rose-jam doughnuts needed a lift from a hint of juniper in the chocolate glaze. She’d just set the apricot and peach turnovers on the cooling rack when the doorbell chimed again.
Arla poked her head through the doorway. “I couldn’t walk past,” she said, her nostrils flaring appreciatively. “It smells dangerously good in here.”
“You’re just in time,” Julian called. “Sylvie’s first test batch is out.”
Arla stepped fully inside and let out a low whistle as she surveyed the shop. “Wow. Now this looks like a bakery. Not a thrift store with a bread side hustle.”
Sylvie set a tray of strawberry tartlets and salted-caramel éclairs on the counter. Arla took one bite and let out a deep, primal groan of approval. “Oh, gods. I love these.”
“You’re a terrible tester,” Sylvie said, though a warm glow settled in her chest. “I need a critique, not a fan club.”
“I’m an orc,” Arla replied, licking vanilla cream from her thumb. “We don’t do nuance. It’s either delicious or it’s trash. These are delicious.”
She paused, looking around. “So—have you picked a name for the place yet?”
Sylvie blinked. “I… actually haven’t.” In all the chaos, she’d forgotten the most important thing.
“We need something that hits instantly,” Arla said.
“The Flaming Tart!” Bobby shouted.
“The Flaming Fart?” Julian snorted, not missing a beat. “No, dear. We are not opening a dwarvish dive bar. We need something sensual. Something that would play to the vibe of this place.”
He stroked his beard, eyes lighting up. “I’ve got it.Fifty Shades of Grain.”
Sylvie’s jaw dropped. Heat rushed to the tips of her ears.
“Well,” Arla said brightly, “your pastries do look like food porn.”
“What aboutKnead Me Hard?” Arla added thoughtfully.
“She’s running a bakery, not a massage parlor,” Bobby muttered.
Sylvie rubbed her forehead. A headache was already sparking. The trio dissolved into a full-blown argument—Julian flinging rainbow sprinkles into Bobby’s beard, Bobby retaliating with freeze-dried raspberries, and Arla laughing herself breathless.
Sylvie’s gaze drifted to the wood-fired oven. Its dark mouth was still warm, embers glowing faintly within.
