Monday came with a drizzle of rain and the kind of gray skies that made people crave pastries and warm drinks. Lena didn't mind—rainy days had always been her favorite. The bakery felt cozier, like a warm blanket wrapped around the town.
She was restocking the cookie jars when Mrs. Cartwright, one of their oldest customers, shuffled in wearing a rain bonnet and dragging her floral umbrella behind her.
"Good morning, dear," she called. "I've come for my usual. And some gossip, if you've got it."
Lena chuckled. "I'm fresh out of scandal, but I'll see what I can find in the back."
Mrs. Cartwright leaned in. "Someone said you've been seen with Walker Harper. And not just in a friendly way."
Lena blinked, caught off guard.
"Oh, don't look so shocked," the older woman said. "This town's got eyes in the trees."
Lena handed her a bag of shortbread. "We're… reconnecting. That's all."
"Mmhmm." Mrs. Cartwright winked. "Reconnecting tends to lead to baking pies together. And I don't mean the fruit kind."
Lena laughed, even as her cheeks warmed. "You're terrible."
"I'm experienced."
As Mrs. Cartwright left, Walker walked in, shaking rain from his jacket. He gave Lena a warm smile, the kind that made her knees weak and her heart race.
"You're just in time," she said. "Mrs. Cartwright practically interrogated me."
"She's better than the FBI," he said. "She used to interrogate me about my grades in church."
Lena poured him coffee, then hesitated. "Are you free after closing tonight?"
He raised a brow. "You asking me on a date, Hart?"
"I'm asking you to help me fix the leaky window in the office. But I'll consider baking you something if you behave."
"That's even better."
That evening, the rain had slowed to a soft mist. Walker returned in jeans and a worn hoodie, toolbox in hand.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Lena teased as she led him to the office.
"I once built a treehouse with duct tape and a hammer. How hard can a window be?"
As it turned out—very.
The window frame was warped, and every time Walker tried to adjust it, it groaned ominously.
"You're going to break it," Lena said.
"Or fix it heroically."
He grunted and gave one last tug.
The frame gave way slightly—and dumped a small stream of water onto both of them.
Lena squealed. Walker cursed under his breath.
And then they both started laughing.
"Okay," Lena said, wiping water from her cheek, "heroic failure."
Walker tossed the towel at her. "I'll hire someone. But at least I got you to laugh."
She looked at him then—really looked.
Wet hair. Crooked grin. Eyes full of something tender.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she stepped closer.
"I meant what I said yesterday," she said softly. "I feel something too. But I'm scared."
"Me too," he admitted. "But I'd rather be scared with you than safe without you."
And just like that, in a damp, creaky office that smelled like cinnamon and old wood, he kissed her.
It wasn't perfect. It was hesitant, sweet, a little awkward.
But it was real.
And Lena knew—this was the beginning of something she hadn't dared believe in for years.