Avery pressed the note to her chest, eyes burning. Not with grief this time, but something steadier. Something like resolve.
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and set the note on the counter where she could see it. Then she grabbed a rag, ran water in the old sink until it sputtered warm, and started wiping down the front counter.
Dust smeared. The rag turned gray in seconds.
But the space looked a little less forgotten. Avery felt something loosen inside her. Something unclench.
She wasn’t running anymore.
She wasn’t hiding.
She washere.
And shewas staying.
She set the rag aside, breath steadying as she stepped back to take in the room again. Cleaning one counter hadn’t changed much — not really — but it changedher. The bakery was still a wreck, still tired and worn and full of ghosts, yet she could look at it without feeling swallowed whole. For the first time, she could see what it had been… and what it could be again.
Her gaze drifted across the room, catching on the familiar shapes beneath the dust. The display case. The chalkboard menu. The tables stacked in the corner. All the pieces of a life she used to know.
She could almost hear the bell over the door. Almost hear Aunt Clara humming. Almost hear…
Avery blinked, and the memory rose before she could stop it.
The bakery had been warm that afternoon, sunlight spilling through the front windows and turning the flour dust in the air into glitter. Avery sat at one of the round tables, textbooks spread out in front of her, pencil tapping againsther cheek.
Noah sat across from her, long legs stretched out, his own homework open but untouched. Sixteen had hit him with a growth spurt: taller, broader, jaw sharper, eyes darker. He’d grown into himself that year, and Avery wasn’t sure when she’d started noticing.
“You’re staring at the page like it’s gonna solve itself,” he said.
“It might,” she muttered.
He snorted. “It won’t.”
She glared at him. “You’re not helping.”
“I am helping.” He leaned forward, tapping the problem with his pencil. “You forgot to carry the one.”
She blinked. “No I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Noah…”
He smirked. “Aves. You did.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Fine. Maybe.”
He leaned back, satisfied. “Told you.”
Aunt Clara passed by, ruffling Avery’s hair. “You two are trouble.”
Noah grinned. “She’s the trouble. I’m the responsible one.”
Avery threw her pencil at him. He caught it easily, laughing.
And for a moment, everything was simple. Warm. Safe. The world small enough to fit inside Sweet Treats.
Avery blinked hard, the memory dissolving like sugar in water.
