Chapter 2
Piper
I spend the afternoon after lunch filming B-roll around Valentine, giving Dylan space to work without a camera in his face.
The town is smaller than I expected, but bigger than it should be; it’s full of personality packed into six blocks of Main Street.
I capture footage of the festival banners, the way light filters through the trees in the town square, and the hand-painted signs outside local businesses, which appear to have been made by the same artist.
By the time I return to Spice Spice Baby for the evening shift, the golden hour light is pouring through those massive windows, and the bakery looks like something out of a magazine spread I didn't have to stage.
Dylan is exactly where I left him, at the decorating station, except now he's working on a different cake. The precision is mesmerizing, and I can’t help but watch the way his hands move, the flex of his forearms, and the small furrow between his brows when he concentrates.
I'm definitely not supposed to find frosting application this attractive, but here we are.
I pull out my camera and adjust the settings for the warm light. Dylan glances up when he hears the shutter click, and for just a second, something passes across his face. It’s not annoyance, maybe a bit of curiosity, but there’s definitely awareness.
"Don't mind me," I say lightly. "Just getting some atmospheric shots."
"You're very good at blending into the background," he says dryly.
I grin. "I try."
He returns his attention to the cake, but I notice the faint flush creeping up his neck. The man is affected by me, and he's trying very hard not to show it.
I like that more than I should. I move around the space, capturing details. The way flour dust catches the light. The neat rows of piping bags hanging on hooks. The vintage mixer appears to have been here since the bakery opened. Everything in here tells a story.
When I circle back to Dylan's station, he's switched to a delicate sugar flower that requires tweezers and a steady hand.
"Can I get a close-up of that?" I ask.
He nods without looking up. "Just don't bump the table."
I crouch beside him, framing the shot so his hands fill the viewfinder. The way his fingers move is almost hypnotic. He’s careful, controlled, like he's done this a thousand times, but still treats each petal like it matters.
"You're really talented," I say softly.
His hands still for just a fraction of a second. "It's just practice."
"It's more than that."
He glances at me, and we're suddenly much closer than we were a moment ago. We are close enough that I can smell the scent of vanilla and something warm that might just be him.
"You give a lot of compliments," he says quietly.
"Only when they're true."
The air between us is thick. It’s definitely charged. It feels like the moment before a thunderstorm when you can feel the electricity building.
Then Maddie's voice breaks through from somewhere behind us. "Daddy, can I've a cookie?"
Dylan blinks and pulls back, the spell broken. "Just one bug, ask Evan to get it from the top shelf."
Maddie scampers off, and I stand up, putting a more professional distance between us.
"Sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to distract you."
"You're not," he says, but his voice suggests otherwise.
I busy myself with my camera, reviewing the shots I just took. They're good. Really good. They’re the kind of images that will make people want to visit this bakery just to watch him work.
"Piper," Dylan says, and I look up. He sets the tweezers down and wipes his hands on a towel. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why content creation? You could probably do a dozen other things with your eye for composition."
The question catches me off guard. Most people don't ask about the why; they just ask the what.
"I like that it keeps me moving," I say honestly. "New places, new projects. I don't have to put down roots."
"That sounds lonely."
The observation is gentle but direct, and it hits closer than I want to admit.
"Sometimes," I concede. "But it's also freeing because no one expects anything from me beyond work."
"Is that what you want? No expectations?"
I study him for a moment. This man clearly carries the weight of a hundred expectations every day. Who shows up for his daughter, his business, his town. Who hasn't done something just for himself in years.
"I don't know what I want," I admit. "I've been moving so long, I'm not sure I'd recognize home if I found it."
He nods slowly, like he understands something about that. "I used to think stability was the opposite of freedom. Now I think maybe it's the foundation for it."
"That's very philosophical for a baker."
A small smile tugs at his mouth. "I've a lot of time to think while I pipe rosettes."
I laugh, and something about the sound makes his smile widen.
Before either of us can say anything else, Evan appears with Maddie in tow and a cookie in hand.
"Dylan, I'm heading out. You good to lock up?"
"Yeah, we're good. Thanks, Evan."
Evan gives me a knowing look as he grabs his jacket. "Nice meeting you, Piper. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of you."
The emphasis on a lot more is not subtle at all.
After he leaves, the bakery feels quieter and more intimate. There’s just me, Dylan, and Maddie, who's now sitting at her little table drawing what appears to be a very elaborate castle.
"I should probably get going too," I say, even though part of me wants to stay.
"Where are you staying?" Dylan asks.
"I rented a little house on the south side of town. Nothing fancy, but it has good light."
He nods. "That's a nice area. Quiet."
"Unlike this place," I tease.
"Unlike this place," he agrees.
I pack up my camera gear, and Dylan walks me to the door. His hand reaches for the lock, then pauses.
"Piper," he says, not quite meeting my eyes, "would you want to come back tomorrow? I'm starting the base layers for the festival cake. It might make good content."
My heart does a little skip. "I'd love that."
"Good." He finally looks at me, and the warmth in his expression makes my breath catch. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"See you tomorrow, Dylan."
I step out into the evening air, and the door closes softly behind me. The street is quiet now, and most of the shops are closed for the day. The festival banners flutter in the breeze, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear music from one of the bars on the edge of town.
I should feel like a stranger here, just a visitor passing through, but as I walk back to my rental car, I realize something unsettling. For the first time in years, I don't feel like I'm just passing through.
I feel like I might be arriving.