Chapter 3
Liam
By the time the morning rush dies down, I am already behind on the day. There is a stack of invoices on my desk, three festival-related emails blinking at me from my phone, and a six-year-old who keeps disappearing under the counter.
“Maisie,” I call, crouching to see where she went. “Where are you?”
A tiny hand shoots up from behind the display case. “Here.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing usually means trouble,” I remind her.
“It’s not trouble, Daddy, it's a secret.”
That does not help my nerves even a little. “Can you tell me the secret?”
She shakes her head reluctantly. “Not yet. It’s still cooking.”
I blink. “Cooking?”
“Yes. Cooking.”
I watch her for a second, trying to decide how worried I should be. She straightens her dress like she has somewhere important to be and marches toward the back before I can stop her.
“Maisie.”
She pauses, turns, and gives me her most innocent expression. “Yes, Daddy?”
“What are you cooking?”
“It is not food cooking,” she says, as if I am the one who should know better. “It is… idea cooking.”
Idea cooking. Right. I rub the back of my neck. “Okay. But maybe stay where I can see you, alright?”
She nods and trots to the prep area, humming a little tune that clearly means she thinks she’s on a secret mission.
I should follow her. I know that. Instead, I finish wiping the counter and pretend everything is normal. It isn’t, because Charlotte exists now and apparently has rearranged the inside of my skull.
I am reorganizing the pastry case when I notice a small yellow piece of paper lying on the corner of the counter. It has a unicorn sticker on it. That is my first warning.
I pick it up.
The handwriting is large and uneven, written with a purple crayon.
Dear Charlit,
Can you come to the back and help me with a cookie test?
Love,
Maisie
My body goes cold.
Then hot.
Then cold again.
“Oh no,” I whisper. “No no no.”
I look toward the back. Maisie is sitting at the prep table, legs swinging, pretending she is not plotting something. She hums louder when she notices me staring at her.
“Maisie,” I say, walking over slowly. “Did you give someone a note?”
Her eyes widen. “Maybe.”
“That looks like your handwriting.”
“I have new handwriting,” she says quickly. “It’s a mystery.”
“Maisie.”
She sighs and slumps in her chair. “Fine. It was me. But you would have said no if I asked.”
“That is because I would have said no.”
She nods like this proves her point.
“Who did you give the note to?” I ask.
Before she can answer, the front bell rings.
I close my eyes. “Please be a delivery driver,” I whisper.
It is not a delivery driver.
Charlotte steps into the bakery with a bright smile and her clipboard tucked under her arm. “I got your note,” she says as soon as she sees me. “It was stuck to the front door.”
I want the ground to swallow me.
Maisie waves proudly from behind me. “Hi!”
Charlotte lifts the yellow paper. “Cookie test sounds important.”
I put my face in my hands. “I am so sorry,” I say through my fingers. “I didn’t know she did that.”
Charlotte laughs, but it’s warm, not mocking. “Honestly, it might be the best invitation I have gotten in years.”
Maisie beams like she just won a trophy.
“Come on,” she tells Charlotte. “We have work to do.”
Charlotte looks at me for permission. My brain tells me I should decline. My mouth does not listen.
“She has already planned this,” I say. “There is no stopping it.”
Charlotte walks over, and I feel it right away, the quiet pull she brings with her. It runs along my skin and before I can react, she puts her bag down on the prep table.
Maisie pushes a stool toward her. “Sit here. You can help me decorate.”
Charlotte takes the seat. “I would be honored.”
My chest tightens, this is the kind of moment that should feel harmless, but it doesn’t, it’s too easy, too comfortable, and that throws me.
Maisie hands her a cookie. “This one needs sprinkles and a heart in the middle. Because this whole town is about hearts.”
Charlotte nods seriously. “Of course it is.”
I lean against the counter and try to look like I’m not watching every second of this. I should go back to work. I have invoices to tend too and orders to organize. Instead I stay right where I am, because watching Charlotte help my daughter decorate cookies affects me more than I want to admit.
She notices me looking and gives me that warm little smile, and just like that my pants tighten
“Want to join us?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I am better at the oven part, not the decoration part.”
Maisie snorts. “He is not good at frosting. He makes it too bloppy.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Bloppy?”
She nods firmly. “Yes. Bloppy.”
Charlotte tries not to laugh. “I think bloppy frosting has charm.”
“It does not,” Maisie says with the seriousness of a critic who has seen too much. “Daddy needs practice.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to breathe. “Thank you for the feedback.”
The two of them start decorating, and I hover a few steps away, pretending I’m checking supplies even though I’m not checking anything.
Maisie hands Charlotte a piping bag. “You squeeze gently. Like this.” She demonstrates on air.
Charlotte copies her motion with exaggerated care. “Like this?”
Maisie nods. “You are good at this.”
Charlotte’s cheeks warm. “I had a good teacher.”
Maisie straightens, clearly proud.
I clear my throat. “I should probably go finish my inventory.”
Charlotte looks at me, and there it is again, that pull I can’t seem to shake. It settles deeper every time our eyes meet.
“You can stay,” she says lightly. “If you want.”
It’s casual and friendly, but her voice is soft in a way that sends my pulse into overdrive
“I can stay a minute,” I say.
Maisie grins triumphantly. “Daddy likes cookie time.”
“I never said that.”
“You look like you do.”
I exhale. “You cannot just tell people what my face is doing.”
“Yes I can,” she says cheerfully. “I live with it.”
Charlotte laughs, trying to cover her mouth while she does. When she tilts her head, a strand of hair falls loose near her cheek.
I reach out automatically. I don’t know why I do it, I don’t think about it, I just tuck the hair behind her ear before I can stop myself.
She freezes and so do I.
Her breath snags, and the moment stretches. My fingers drag lightly across her skin, and heat flashes through me hard enough to make me tense.
Maisie stares at us for a beat, like she’s waiting to see what we do next.
“Your ears are red, Daddy,” she announces.
I drop my hand. “They are not.”
“They are.”
Charlotte’s eyes meet mine and she tries to hide a smile. I feel the heat move into my face now too.
“Maybe we should… keep decorating,” I say.
Charlotte nods quickly. “Yes. Definitely.”
She picks up the piping bag, but her hands shake just slightly. I notice because I’m staring like an idiot.
She squeezes the frosting and it comes out crooked.
“Oh no,” she whispers, trying to correct it.
Maisie pats her arm compassionately. “It is okay. Daddy makes blops all the time.”
“Blops,” I repeat under my breath.
“Yes,” Maisie insists. “Blops.”
Charlotte laughs again, and there’s a small ache in my chest, the kind that feels too close to hope.
She decorates another cookie, slower this time. When she reaches for the sprinkles, our hands brush. It is a tiny touch, barely there, but I feel it like a small spark running down my spine.
She pulls her hand back quickly and lets out a soft breath.
Maisie narrows her eyes thoughtfully. “You two are acting funny.”
Charlotte coughs. “We are not acting funny.”
“Yes you are,” Maisie says. “Your faces look funny.”
Charlotte presses her lips together, trying not to smile. “Do they?”
Maisie nods. “You look like you are thinking about hugging.”
I choke on air, while Charlotte’s face goes bright pink.
“No,” I say immediately. “We are not thinking about hugging.”
“Yes you are,” Maisie sings under her breath.
I give her a look, and she smiles sweetly and goes back to her cookie.
I glance at Charlotte. She is looking at the cookie, not at me, but her mouth is curved in a way that tells me she is fighting a laugh. I should step away. I should get back to work. This is dangerous in a way I do not have the bandwidth for, but I stay.
We finish decorating the tray, and Maisie insists Charlotte pick her favorite cookie to take home. Charlotte chooses a heart-shaped one covered in red sprinkles.
“For good luck,” she says.
Maisie grins. “It is for love luck.”
Charlotte blushes again. “Oh.”
Maisie hands it to her like it is a sacred object. “You can keep it.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte says softly.
Her eyes meet mine with something warm in them.
She glances at the time and stands reluctantly. “I should get going. I still have festival calls.”
“Of course,” I say, even though I want her to stay another hour.
Maisie waves enthusiastically. “Bye, Charlotte!”
“Bye, sweet girl,” she says, smiling at her. Then she looks back at me. “See you later?”
I nod. “Yes. Later.”
She gives a soft smile, holds the cookie carefully, and walks out of the bakery.
As soon as the door closes, Maisie turns to me.
“She likes you,” she says.
I swallow. “Maisie.”
“She does,” she repeats, confident. “And you like her.”
“I… think she is very nice.”
“That means you like her,” she says, slow and sure, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I rub my forehead. “You cannot just decide these things.”
She shrugs. “I decided.”
Of course she did.
And the worst part is… she is not wrong.
Not even close.