“As in running right through Main Street.” Sue stood, smoothing her skirt. “As in including several downtown businesses. Including, I believe, this one.”
The dough tore under Dahlia’s fingers.
She stared at the ruined croissant, at the ragged edges where her careful lamination had come apart. Four generations ofMoons had run this bakery. Her grandmother had built it from nothing. Her mother had kept it alive through lean years. Dahlia had given up Paris, given up everything, to keep it going.
And now some mountain bear with a grudge thought he could take it?
“What am I supposed to do about this?” She kept her voice level. Controlled. The steel beneath the softness that she rarely let anyone see.
Sue paused at the door. “I told Bran years ago that his grandson would find what he needed here. The mountain brings them back to what matters.” Her smile turned insufferably knowing. “Perhaps you should pay attention when he arrives. I suspect there’s unfinished business in this town. Bears who need feeding.”
And then she was gone, leaving Dahlia alone with her ruined dough and the first gray light of dawn creeping through the windows.
Marzipan dropped from her perch and wound between Dahlia’s ankles, tail high, eyes bright with accusation.
You need to sleep.The psychic impression was less words and more feeling—judgment wrapped in reluctant affection.
“I need to open the shop.” Dahlia scraped the ruined dough into the compost bin. “Sleep is for people who don’t have territorial disputes to worry about.”
Marzipan’s tail flicked.You’re lying to yourself again.
She probably was. But lying to herself was a skill Dahlia had perfected over thirty-eight years, and she wasn’t about to stop now.
TWO
DAHLIA
By seven, the bakery was open, and the first rush had begun.
Dahlia moved through the morning on autopilot, restocking display cases, charming pastries with intention, smiling at regulars who needed that smile more than they needed the comfort croissant they were actually buying. Mrs. Patterson, whose husband was in the hospital again. Joshua Mallerin, who’d lost his job last month and was pretending he hadn’t. Marlene from the post office, still grieving the dog that had died six weeks ago.
Dahlia knew all of them. Knew what they needed before they asked.
That was her gift. Her curse. The thing that made her indispensable and drained in equal measure.
The bell above the door chimed at nine-fifteen, and chaos incarnate swept into the shop.
“I need your help.” Junie Reed-Castellan—wild red hair, freckles, and an energy that could power a small city—collapsed against the counter. “My stabilization potion is doing the opposite of stabilizing. It turned Leo’s coffee into a frog.”
Dahlia handed over a clarity cookie without being asked. “A living frog or a frog-shaped coffee?”
“Living. It hopped into his briefcase.” Junie bit into the cookie. Her focus went slightly distant as the charm took hold. “Oh. Oh. I forgot the wormwood. I keep forgetting the wormwood.”
“You need a checklist.”
“I need a brain that doesn’t run in seventeen directions at once.” Junie leaned against the counter. “Did you hear about Bran Ursa?”
The subject worked as a distraction. Junie’s attention shifted to gossip-hungry curiosity. “Sue cornered Leo at the bank yesterday. The whole sleuth is in crisis mode. And the grandson—” She leaned in. “Apparently, he’s some bigshot corporate guy in Seattle. Hasn’t been back in years.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“The Ursa men leave.” Junie recited it with the cadence of a town legend. “It’s in the blood. His father did the same thing—abandoned the sleuth, ran off with some human woman, never came back.” She polished off the cookie. “Think the grandson’s the same?”
Dahlia thought about the territorial dispute Sue had mentioned. About Magnus Ironwood buying up land, making claims. About her bakery sitting on a boundary line that suddenly felt far more precarious than it had yesterday.
“I don’t know what to think.”
The bell chimed again. Avine Bell-Vance swept in, all innkeeper efficiency and easy smiles. “I need two dozen assorted for the inn. We’ve got a group coming in from Portland this afternoon.” She kissed Dahlia’s cheek in greeting.
