Chapter 4
The old baseboard heater hummed quietly as I stood at the kitchen stove, flipping eggs in a pan that had seen better days.
The smell was comforting, if a little thin–eggs and toast, no extras.
The fridge door stood ajar behind me, practically empty.
A half-carton of eggs, some milk, butter, fruit and vegetables.
I hadn’t dared buy much at the store yesterday.
Not when I didn’t know when I’d be earning again.
The cupboards weren’t much better. A few cans of soup, one box of pasta, the jar of peanut butter I’d grabbed last minute because it was on sale. And the loaf of bread, already down to the last few slices after yesterday’s sandwiches and this morning’s toast.
I set the toast on two mismatched plates and glanced out the small kitchen window. The backyard stretched quiet and white, the fresh snow from yesterday untouched save for a trail of footprints that led out toward the pond.
It shimmered in the early light, surrounded by bare trees and a low wooden fence that looked like it hadn’t been painted in years. Icicles hung from the porch roof like crooked teeth, and beyond the pond, a dense line of evergreens stood like silent sentinels, separating us from the rest of town.
The whole scene looked like something from a postcard, the kind of winter stillness you read about in Christmas books. Peaceful. Isolated. Safe.
I startled at the soft creak of a floorboard behind me and turned around, spatula still in hand.
Connor padded into the kitchen in his socks, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand, his sandy blond hair sticking up in five different directions.
He’d shot up this past year, all lanky limbs and boyish charm, but his cheeks were still round with the last traces of childhood.
His green eyes–so much like mine used to be–were wide and curious as he looked around.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I offered a tired smile and lowered the spatula. “It’s okay, buddy. You hungry?”
He nodded, settling into one of the wobbly kitchen chairs and pulling his knees up to sit cross-legged. “Smells good.”
“Well, it’s just eggs and toast. And I added a little pepper. Fancy, huh?”
He grinned, shoulders relaxing a little. “Real fancy.”
I set a plate in front of him and ruffled his hair as I passed, then returned to the counter to grab my coffee. The mug was chipped, warming my hands as I took a sip and leaned against the sink.
“Today’s the big day,” I said gently. “We’ll go check out your new school after breakfast.”
He paused mid-bite. “Do you think the kids will be nice?”
I took a breath, choosing my words carefully. “I hope so. But either way, you’ve got that charm of yours. And that’s pretty hard to ignore.”
He rolled his eyes in that way that let me know he appreciated it, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
I glanced out the window again, eyes drifting back to the pond and I made a mental note to ask someone in town if it was safe to walk on yet.
Connor followed my gaze. “Do you think we could skate on it?”
“The pond?”
“Yeah. It’s frozen isn’t it?” He said, pressing his face to the cold glass.
“Maybe if we can get our hands on some skates, we could try it out.” I said, smiling at his awe.
“Really?” His eyes lit up.
I nodded, ignoring the tight squeeze in my chest at the idea of adding skates to the ever-growing list of things we can’t afford. “Yeah. We’ll see what we can do.”
Connor scraped the last of his eggs off the plate, then pushed it forward and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “I wonder if they have a hockey team here for me. Like the one I was on before we left.”
Guilt pricked at the back of my throat. I knew how much he’d loved it–waking up early for practices, tugging his gear bag down the stairs, rattling off every stat like he was reporting for Hockey Night in Canada.
I forced a smile. “I’m not sure, buddy. The season’s probably already started… I’ll see what I can find out.”
His face lit up like I’d just handed him a winning lottery ticket. “Really?”
“Really,” I said. “No promises, but I’ll ask around. Now go get dressed.”
Connor gave a dramatic fist pump as I watched him disappear up the stairs, humming to himself as he went to get ready.
I turned my attention back to the window, taking in the frost along the edges of the glass and the quiet stillness beyond it.
We stepped out of the school into the crisp morning air, the sun just beginning to peek through the blanket of grey clouds overhead. Snow crunched beneath our boots as Connor bounced beside me, cheeks flushed with excitement.
“That was the coolest school ever,” he said, practically skipping.
I smiled, tugging my coat tighter around me.
Every person we’d met–from the front office staff to the principal–had been warm and welcoming. His teacher seemed genuinely kind, and even the handful of kids he’d met had been friendly, open. It was more than I could have hoped for.
We turned down Main Street instead of heading home, the decision burning in my gut. I hadn’t planned to do this today, but this morning’s empty cupboards haunted me. The loaf of bread was already down to three slices, and I wasn’t sure how many ways I could turn half-dozen eggs into full meals.
Connor’s voice hummed beside me as we walked–something about slap shots and how he and Liam were going to build the “coolest snow fort ever.” I listened with half an ear, the other half busy scanning every passing face.
The street was busier than yesterday. Shops had their signs flipped to OPEN, and cheerful locals wandered from storefront to storefront bundled in thick coats and scarves.
Several people offered warm smiles or friendly greetings.
“Morning!”
“Hi there!”
“Cute kid!”
I nodded stiffly each time, my own smile not quite reaching my eyes. Connor had no such hesitation–he greeted everyone like a golden retriever off leash, proudly announcing, “We’re new here!”
I tried to match his ease, but each face we passed was a puzzle piece I hadn’t seen before. Any of them could be connected to Reid. A cousin. A friend. Someone he sent.
My hand instinctively rested on Connor’s shoulder, guiding him gently forward.
He glanced up at me. “Are we going home?”
I hesitated. “Not yet,” I said quietly. “We’re going to make a quick stop in town.”
“For what?”
I looked down at him and mustered a smile. “Something important.”
Because I needed more than hope to keep us afloat. I needed a plan. And maybe… a little help.
The bakery was even cozier this morning, the windows fogged slightly from the warmth within. Frost still clung to the edges of the glass, and golden light spilled from the inside like a promise. The comforting scent of cinnamon and vanilla reached us before we even opened the door.
I pushed it open, the bell above jingling softly, and a wave of heat hit my face, immediately thawing the chill that had settled in my bones.
“Go grab us a table, bud,” I told Connor, gently patting his back. “I’ll order.”
He nodded and darted toward the corner window booth–the same one we’d sat at yesterday–his boots squeaking on the freshly mopped floor.
I took a deep breath and stepped into line, wiping my damp hands on the sides of my coat.
The line was long, filled with smiling regulars and laughter, and for once, it wasn’t the noise that made my heart thump–it was the thought of what I was about to do.
I needed to ask. I had to. A job meant groceries. Rent. Skates for Connor. Safety.
The queue moved slowly, each customer stopping to chat with Benny as if he were an old friend–and I supposed most of them were. He was in his usual flour-dusted apron, animated as ever, laughing at someone’s story and gesturing wildly with a pair of tongs.
When I finally reached the front, his face lit up like the string lights above the counter.
“If it isn’t my favourite newcomers!” he beamed. “Second official day in town, and back for more. I must be doing something right!”
I smiled, nerves jangling. “Hi, Benny. I–uh–I actually wanted to ask–”
That’s when I caught it–the sharp scent of something acrid beneath the warm sugar and cinnamon.
Smoke.
“Oh hell,” Benny muttered, eyes going wide. He tossed his towel on the counter and bolted toward the back, his voice trailing behind me. “Flapjack Fridays are a lie!”
I stood frozen for a moment, blinking at the swinging kitchen door.
The line didn’t flinch–no one shifted, no one murmured.
A few customers chuckled softly, like this was just another Wednesday at Benny’s.
Sure enough, he came rushing back out a moment later, slightly red-faced and fanning smoke from his apron like it was business as usual.
“Crisis averted. Only sacrificed two muffins this time,” he said, brushing a bit of ash from his sleeve. “Sorry about that, sweetheart, what were you saying?”
“Oh,” I said, backing up slightly. “It’s no problem. I… I’ll just come back later. You’re busy.”
“No, no, not at all,” he said, waving his hand dramatically. “Talk to me. How’s your second day in our snowy slice of heaven treating you?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. My courage, already fragile, evaporated like steam from the coffee cups lining the counter.
“It’s good. I’ll just… just two cinnamon rolls, please,” I said finally, forcing a smile.
“Two cinnamon rolls it is,” he said, though he looked at me a beat longer than necessary, like he knew I was holding something back. Yet he didn’t push. He just gave a gentle wink and moved to box up the pastries.
I returned to our table, setting the rolls down in front of Connor, who immediately dove in,
“This place smells so good,” he said, his mouth already full. “Do you think they have chocolate chip cookies too?”
“Maybe,” I replied, only half hearing him. My eyes were on the counter, on Benny, on the slowly shrinking line. My fingers picked at the edge of the napkin beside my plate.
I stood, brushing crumbs from my jeans and making my way back to the counter just as the last customer stepped aside. Benny was wiping the counter clean, whistling under his breath–until his gaze snapped to the far corner of the bakery.
I followed his line of sight to a table of older women knitting in a cozy tangle of yarn and teacups. One of them, a petite lady in lavender with a sharp chin and sharper eyes, met Benny’s stare with a smug little smirk.
Benny scowled.
“Linda,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Think she’s slick after taking second place at the Fall bake off. Store-bought crust, I’m telling you. Store-bought.”
He gave an exaggerated shudder. “If she ever offers you an apple pie, run.”
I laughed, more nervous than amused. “Benny,” I said quickly before I could lose my nerve again, “I was wondering if you were hiring. I mean, if you’d consider… me. I’m looking for a job.”
There. It was out.
My voice cracked slightly at the end, but I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.
Benny’s eyes widened, his hands freezing mid-wipe.
Then he slowly set the cloth down and leaned against the counter, studying me with a surprising softness.
“Well now… that’s not what I was expecting.”
I shifted on my feet. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have–”
He held up a finger, eyes narrowing slightly–not unkindly. “I don’t even know your name yet.”
“It’s Harper,” I said quietly. “Harper Bishop.”
He nodded slowly, almost as if committing it to memory. Then he sighed, glancing toward the kitchen. “You know, my father ran this place by himself for thirty years. Said too many cooks spoil the cinnamon rolls. I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”
My heart sank a little, and I gave a tight nod, already taking a step back. “Of course. I didn’t mean to–”
I turned, already halfway to the table, when his voice rang out again–dramatic and warm.
“Harper!”
I turned.
“My Dad always was a stubborn old bastard who thought sliced bread was a fad.”
I blinked, then laughed–genuine and surprised.
“Come by tomorrow after you drop that young man off at school. We can do a trial run.”
My eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” he said, turning with a dramatic flick of his towel. “Just don’t wear beige. It’s a soul-crushing colour.”