Chapter 2
I could have sworn the bakery was only two blocks away. Somehow, it took me far longer to find it.
The roads twisted in unfamiliar ways, lined with new buildings and fresh infrastructure that barely resembled the town I remembered. Brookvale had grown. Expanded. What used to feel quiet and suffocating now buzzed with movement, people crossing streets, shops filled with light and noise.
It was overwhelming.
And strangely nostalgic.
By the time I finally spotted the familiar sign, parking had become a challenge. I circled twice before squeezing into a narrow spot a short walk away. My legs felt stiff as I stepped out of the car, nerves already tightening in my chest.
Despite everything else changing, the place itself looked almost the same.
Marie’s Pie House stood firm, its exterior freshly painted but unmistakably familiar. The windows still framed the displays the same way, and the sign hung proudly above the door, weathered but strong. It looked like it had been waiting.
I took out the key and hesitated for a second before unlocking the door.
The moment I stepped inside, I froze.
Sunlight poured through the front windows, spilling across the wooden floors just like it used to in the afternoons. The air was warm. Alive.
“Wow,” I whispered. “Nothing has changed since I left.”
Walking further in felt like stepping straight into my past. The rustic scent of wood and sugar wrapped around me.
Then something else hit me.
The smell of freshly baked pie.
I frowned.
That did not make sense.
The bakery was supposed to be closed. My imagination had to be playing tricks on me. I took another breath.
No. The scent was real.
A soft noise came from the kitchen.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice echoing slightly. “Is someone here?”
The kitchen door opened, and I stiffened.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” a firm voice said. “We’re closed. Surely you saw the sign on the door.”
An older woman stood there, wearing a green apron dusted with flour. There was flour on her cheek too, like she had wiped her hands without thinking. She looked startled, but not frightened.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—who are you?”
“I’m Mrs. Jones,” she replied. “And you need to leave.”
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” I said carefully. “This bakery isn’t supposed to be open yet.”
She studied me closely. Too closely.
Then her eyes widened.
“You’re Bailey,” she said.
It was not a question.
“Yes…?” I answered, suddenly unsure of myself.
Her entire demeanor changed.
“Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed, rushing toward me before I could react. She wrapped her arms around me in a warm, unexpected hug. “I’ve been waiting for you. Marie talked about you all the time.”
I blinked, stunned. “She… did?”
“Of course she did,” Mrs. Jones said, pulling back with a fond smile. “She knew how much you loved this place. That’s why she wanted you to take over the bakery. Since she passed, I’ve kept it clean and running until you arrived. She would be so proud of you.”
“That’s very kind,” I said slowly. “But may I ask… what was your relationship with Marie?”
“Oh! Where are my manners?” She laughed softly. “You can call me Eva, dear. Since we’ll be working together.”
At the look on my face, she hurried to explain.
“Marie and I were partners. Or assistants, depending on how you look at it. We made pies together. Ran the place side by side.”
“So you worked for her,” I said.
“Yes, but she never treated me like an employee. When I moved here years ago, I had no one. No husband. No children. Marie took me in. This bakery gave me purpose.”
That sounded exactly like Marie.
She always had a soft spot for lost souls. For people who did not quite belong.
People like me.
My chest tightened.
What am I going to do now?
Should I tell her the truth? That I planned to sell the bakery and leave town as soon as possible?
Not yet.
“Oh!” Eva clapped her hands. “I almost forgot. I have pie in the oven. Trying a new recipe. Sit down, dear.”
Before I could respond, she disappeared into the kitchen.
“Have you found a place to stay?” she called out.
“I rented a cottage nearby,” I answered, wandering around the shop.
The front door suddenly opened. Heavy footsteps were heard behind her.
“You are not welcome here.”
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
Do not turn around.
The room went eerily silent, yet I could hear his breathing behind me. When I finally faced him, my body felt frozen, my hands ice cold.
His expression shifted slowly. Amusement. Annoyance. Then hatred.
It had been years since I last saw him, but the pain was still sharp, immediate. Like a collision I never recovered from.
Ashton stood before me.
Older. Broader. Tailored suit. Expensive watch. Nothing like the boy who once dreamed of escaping this town.
“When I heard about an outsider matching your description walking around town like she owns the place,” he said coldly, “I knew I had to see it for myself.”
So, the rumors had already spread.
I scoffed. “I see nothing’s changed. Gossip here still travels faster than the internet.”
“You’re right,” he said. “And you’re still not welcome. Leave.”
Anger surged through me.
“Who are you to tell me where I can go?” I shot back. “You don’t own this town.”
He stepped closer. “You’re wrong. I do.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, backing up despite myself.
“I’ve overseen the development of this town for years,” he continued. “I may not be mayor, but I hold the power.”
“Arrogant,” I said bitterly. “You’ve turned into your father.”
That hit him.
“Fuck you, Bailey.”
Before I could respond, the door opened again.
“Ash, baby, we’re going to be late—”
The woman in the black dress stopped short.
Lynda.
Her hair was blonde now. Perfect. Her face was heavily made up, polished to perfection. She clung to Ashton like she was afraid to lose him.
“Bailey…?” she whispered.
“Hi, Lynda,” I said flatly. “So, you two ended up together.”
Her face drained of color.
“Anyone want some pie?” Eva appeared cheerfully with a tray, breaking the tension.
That was my cue.
“I’m leaving,” I said quietly.
And this time, I did not look back. They could both go to hell for all I care.