The next morning, Lena was up before the sun. The bakery smelled like dust and disuse, but she was determined to change that. She tied on her old apron—faded, flour-stained, and comforting—and rolled up her sleeves.
She knew the routine like a rhythm embedded in her bones. Flour, sugar, salt, yeast. The dough mixed beneath her fingers as memories rose with it—early mornings with her father humming an old tune, the scent of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air, and laughter that echoed louder than any mixer.
She wiped her hands on a towel and took a deep breath. Today wasn't about nostalgia. It was about reclaiming her place.
A knock at the front door startled her.
She glanced at the clock. It was barely six.
Wiping her hands, she peered through the glass. Her heart gave a small, confused jolt.
Walker Harper stood on the other side, coffee tray in hand.
She opened the door slowly. "You're up early."
"I'm always up early," he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "Occupational hazard. CEOs don't sleep much."
She crossed her arms. "You brought coffee?"
"Bribery," he admitted, holding one out to her. "I thought maybe you'd need a boost."
She hesitated, then took the cup. "Thanks."
Walker looked around the bakery, whistling low. "It hasn't changed much."
"No," she agreed. "Just older. Like the rest of us."
"Speak for yourself," he said with a grin. "I'm aging like wine."
She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He was always like this—charming, self-assured, and annoyingly hard to stay mad at.
"So," he said, leaning against the counter. "What's the plan?"
"I get this place running. Reopen in a couple of weeks. Maybe do a soft launch first."
"You doing it all alone?"
"For now," she said, stirring her coffee. "Eventually I'll hire a few people. But I need to prove I can do this on my own."
Walker studied her, his gaze thoughtful. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Lena."
She blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his tone. "You don't know what it felt like leaving here. Everyone thought I couldn't handle it. That I wasn't cut out for the bakery or small-town life."
"And now you're back to prove them wrong?"
"Something like that."
He nodded slowly. "Well, if you ever need help—business plans, budgets, spreadsheets—I've got more than I know what to do with."
She tilted her head. "You'd help me?"
"Of course. You're... you." His voice caught slightly. "Besides, I could use a reason to sneak pastries again."
She laughed, surprising herself.
For a moment, it felt easy. Familiar. Dangerous.
"I should get back to work," she said, breaking the silence.
"Right," he said, straightening. "I'll stop bothering you."
"You're not bothering me," she said quickly, then added, "Not much, anyway."
He smiled, touched the brim of an imaginary hat, and backed out the door.
When he was gone, Lena leaned against the counter, heart thudding.
She wasn't sure what Walker Harper was doing back in her life—or why it felt like the past was pulling her in again.
All she knew was that, for the first time in a long time, her heart felt awake.
And that was the most dangerous feeling of all.