Chapter 36
After Caleb dropped her off the next morning, Mia went directly to her kitchen. She stepped inside and glanced around. Everything was exactly where she’d left it. Still looked the same. Nothing had changed. That alone made her uneasy.
Except the memory of the ruined crackers.
She reached for her apron, tied it, the familiar motion usually grounding. Not today. She went to the cabinet to get the flour canister, then gathered the rest of the ingredients.
The dough came together easily. The texture was right. It smelled right. Nothing to give her pause. She rolled the dough out, cut it into pieces, pierced each one neatly, and slid the tray into the oven. Soon, the scent of rosemary filled the kitchen.
When the crackers came out, she let them cool. They looked perfect.
Her chest tightened. She didn’t feel reassured the way she should have.
She took a deep breath and picked one up, bringing it to her mouth.
The salt hit first. It wasn’t subtle. It was sharp and immediate.
She gagged, spit it out and hurried to pour herself a glass of water, swallowing hard. Her eyes watered, and her throat burned.
For a split second, a darker thought surfaced. Someone had been in her kitchen.
The thought tightened her chest. She didn’t trust herself to follow it.
“It’s me,” she muttered. The words felt thin even as she said them. It had to be. She’d been so overwhelmed with everything—the event barn, the coolers, the podcast, her dad—she probably poured without thinking. Mixed flour and salt together like her muscle memory had failed her.
Mia let out a long, disappointed sigh, then gave herself a small shake. This wasn’t the first mistake she had ever made. Just the first one in a long time. And it probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, the explanation didn’t sit right.
No matter. This wasn’t the time to spiral.
She still had work to do.
She crossed the kitchen and grabbed her phone, scrolling until she found the client’s name.
Lakeshore. Saturday. The one she’d been excited about.
The phone rang once, twice.
“Hello.”
“Hi,” Mia said, forcing her voice steady. “This is Mia from Plated Perfection. I’m just confirming the time for Saturday. Drop-off and service start time.”
Silence.
Then, “Oh. Um.”
Mia’s stomach sank.
“I thought,” the woman said slowly, “I thought this had already been handled.”
Mia straightened. “Handled how?”
Another pause. Papers rustled. “I was told the event was canceled on your end.”
Her pulse kicked hard. “Canceled?” Mia repeated. “No. I didn’t cancel.”
“Well …” The woman hesitated. “We received a call earlier in the week. Said there was a scheduling conflict. That you were overbooked and wouldn’t be able to accommodate us after all.”
Mia’s mouth went dry. “That wasn’t me.”
“I see.”
Mia swallowed. “Who did you speak to?”
“I assumed it was you,” said the woman. “You identified yourself.”
The room seemed to contract around her. Her grip tightened on the phone. That detail landed like a punch.
“And …” Mia asked, though she already knew. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears.
“We moved forward with someone else,” the woman said. “Given the time, we couldn’t risk another change.”
Of course not.
“I understand,” Mia said, the words automatic.
“I’m sorry,” the woman continued. “Your food came highly recommended. Perhaps another time.”
“Of course,” Mia replied. “Thank you for letting me know.”
They disconnected.
Mia lowered the phone slowly and set it on the counter. Her heart was beating too fast. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at nothing. The kitchen felt too quiet. Too exposed.
She hadn’t canceled.
She hadn’t overbooked.
And she hadn’t made that call.
Which meant someone had spoken for her. Someone who knew her business well enough to sound believable.
A chill slid through her.
“This isn’t a coincidence,” she whispered.
The thought scared her. And just as quickly, she turned back to the counter. She couldn’t afford to stop now.