Chapter 13 Chance
Chance
The dough was fighting back today. Every shove of my hands into the dough made my mind jump to how it had felt holding her yesterday, how the heat of her body had shot straight up my arms. I pressed my fists into it, rolling and folding with enough force to make the whole counter groan.
The air in the Sweet Dragon Bakery was thick with vanilla and cinnamon, flour blurring the wood grain and sticking in little crescents to my arms. I didn't even bother wiping sweat from my forehead.
My shirt was already a mess, and nobody cared how I looked if the bread was good.
The mixer whirred in the background. For one luxurious second, I had the kitchen to myself, the only soundtrack being the slap of dough and the rhythmic vent fan above the ovens.
That lasted about as long as you'd expect.
The side door rattled open, and my mother swept in, arms loaded with groceries and a look that said she already regretted being here.
She moved with the kind of grace that always made me think she had invisible rails under her shoes.
She never wasted a step, even while balancing eggs, oranges, and some overpriced European butter in a single canvas bag.
Her dark hair was up, not a strand out of place, and her coat probably cost more than the bakery's mixer.
Beneath all that was the faintest shimmer in her eyes. Gold, if they caught the light right.
I stiffened up before she even said a word. My hands kept kneading, but the rhythm faltered. Caden bristled under my skin, tail twitching.
We were both angry.
"Hello, darling." Mom made it sound like she'd just dropped in from some diplomatic event instead of a six-minute drive from the Meyer house. She set the groceries down with surgical precision, lining each carton parallel to the countertop edge.
"Morning," I grunted. If I looked up, I'd probably snap, so I focused on the dough. "You're early."
"I had an errand in town." She started pulling items from the bags, arranging them in a neat row. Eggs, cream, oranges, a jar of fancy honey. "Figured I'd save you the trouble of running errands. This bakery survives on luxury ingredients, doesn't it? Maeve told me that years ago."
She didn't look at me once. Just combed through the groceries and tucked them away. Every movement was measured. Too measured.
The dough was ready to rest. I dusted my palms on my apron. "Thanks. You didn't have to, but thanks."
She made a little hmm sound.
The only thing louder than my heartbeat was her phone. It pinged the second she set it on the counter and kept going, notification after notification, as she fussed with the honey and butter.
I tried to ignore it, but the racket was irritating.
Finally, I broke. "You gonna take that, Mom? Or is it just gonna serenade us all the time you're here?"
Her jaw twitched. "It's nothing urgent."
"Then why not turn it off?" I pressed, a little sharper than I meant.
She managed a brittle half-smile. "You never know if there's an emergency."
But the phone kept going, and her eyes kept wandering toward it like maybe the incoming texts signaled something more.
"I mean it." I leaned across the counter so she'd have to look at me. "Who's blowing up your phone? You're not usually this jumpy."
Mom straightened, eyes narrowing in a way that reminded me of every fight we ever had about business, money, or the correct way to fold a fitted sheet. "It's just an old friend. We're planning a surprise, that's all."
She smoothed her coat sleeve while she talked. Nerves, definitely nerves. If Mom was fidgeting, the world was absolutely off its axis. She was much more upset than she was pretending.
Strangely, that made me feel better. She wasn't the best at showing it, but she did care about what happened and my daughters. Her granddaughters.
"What kind of surprise?" I prodded.
She clicked her tongue, arranging the eggs into a perfect triangle. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. Besides, you wouldn't find it interesting."
My skin prickled. The dough on the counter suddenly looked like a punching bag instead of tomorrow's sandwich bread.
"Try me," I shot back. "Last time you tried to keep a secret, we ended up missing a chunk of family history."
Her nostrils flared, and she winced. "This is different."
Caden shifted in my chest, all claws and heat. The urge to just grab the phone, scroll through the messages and make my point was so strong it actually made my hand twitch.
But I knew better than to try. Mom guarded her tech like a religious artifact. You could banter, bluff, even bully her, but under no circumstances did you actually touch her phone.
She noticed my glare. Her lips pinched tighter. "Let it go, darling. Please."
Mother never said please. Not unless she was about to body-slam you emotionally.
I backed off, but not by much. "Fine."
Her hands fluttered over the grocery bags, smoothing wrinkles that weren't there. She finally looked up, but her gaze skidded past mine, landing somewhere over my shoulder. Classic Mom tactic. Engage, but never commit.
Before the tension could crest, the front bell chimed.
I wiped my hands, peeled off my apron, and strode to the display case. Mom followed, posture shifting from brittle to regal in two steps.
Standing in the entry were two men. Dark suits, winter coats, perfect haircuts, and shoes that would never survive a real December in the mountains.
One was taller, jaw sharp as obsidian, and the other shorter but with piercing eyes that scanned the bakery like a security camera.
Both carried leather portfolios and confident smirks.
"Good morning!" The tall one flashed teeth that probably came with a warranty. "Are you the owner?"
I held his gaze. "Yeah. I'm Chance Meyer. Can I help you?"
He paused a fraction too long, like he expected someone older, or more female, or maybe just floury. Like, maybe, Maeve. But us being co-owners was a matter of public record.
"Excellent. I'm Greg Thornton. This is my associate, Mr. Bennett. We're from SkyArc Development." He produced a card, setting it on the marble with a little tap. "We wanted to catch you for a quick chat about some exciting opportunities coming to Laurel Gap."
His sidekick never blinked. Just sized up every inch of the bakery. The display case, the chairs, the weird old dragon-themed sign above the register.
I played along, picking up the card and pretending to care. "Go on."
Greg launched into the pitch. "We've been reviewing all the local businesses within a ten-mile radius.
Laurel Gap's seeing a lot of growth, especially with the uptick in tourism.
We're putting together a proposal for a new shopping outlet at the east end of town.
It'll be state-of-the-art, multi-tenant, a mix of local and national brands. "
I didn't bother to hide my skepticism. "So, what? You want to put a Sweet Dragon Bakery in a strip mall next to a gas station and a Sub Shack?"
The shorter man, Bennett, smiled like I'd proven his point.
"We're actually interested in making sure homegrown places like this are the anchor tenants.
Locals don't trust chains unless there's some genuine flavor, you know?
Besides, most of them can't compete with your cinnamon rolls. We heard about those."
Flattery, already. I hated this dance.
Mom went quiet. Her chin lifted, and her eyes went hard. Her hands folded at her waist, every inch the mob boss instead of the retired socialite.
Greg leaned in, lowering his voice. "Of course, we'd be more than happy to put the Meyer family name front and center. Special incentives for early partners. Marketing, signage, maybe event nights. It's a win-win."
I set the card down firmly. "Not interested."
That caught them off guard. The suits shifted, gears grinding, trying to figure out where I'd gone off script.
Bennett recovered first. "With all due respect, it wouldn't hurt to consider the idea. A second location would double your customer base in a season. You'd barely lift a finger, and our buildout crews make the transition seamless."
"I'm not looking to franchise," I said. "The bakery's fine where it is."
Greg tried again, voice velvet-smooth. "You say that now, but the market's changing. Once that outlet opens, you'll be boxed in by competitors. There's talk of a Starbucks, a Panera, maybe even a Duck Donuts. It's a jungle out there, and the smart ones get ahead of the curve."
I braced my hands on the counter, squaring my shoulders. "We survived the last sixty-plus years without your help. Pretty sure we can hang on for sixty more."
Behind me, I heard Mom's even breathing. She hadn't started dressing them down. She was showing more restraint than she usually did. That was a win, as far as I was concerned.
Bennett's smile lost a little wattage. "We really do hope you'll reconsider. It'd be a shame for the tradition of this business to get left behind. Once SkyArc gets rolling, things happen fast."
Caden's heat churned in my chest, like a coil winding tighter and tighter. I could just eat them.
I stared both of them down. "You done?"
Greg's eyes went cold. "We can come back another day."
My jaw locked so hard it ached. "Don't bother. Like I said, not interested. My customers come here for what's real, not for whatever's trending off the interstate. We're not joining your 'exciting opportunity.'"
He held my gaze for a beat, but his confidence cracked. "Suit yourself, Mr. Meyer. It's your bakery."
Bennett scribbled his number on a card and slid it forward. "If you change your mind. Or if anything comes up that requires our… assistance."
They turned to leave, but the air in the room was thick enough to chew. Mom didn't move a muscle, but her eyes tracked them to the door, judging them down to the soles of their shiny shoes.
I scraped a bit of dried dough off my palm. "Why do I get the sense this isn't over?"
She didn't answer, just gathered her purse and straightened her coat. At that moment, she looked every bit the dragon queen. Untouchable, dangerous.
Before I could ask anything else, her phone went off again. She checked it, then offered a noncommittal smile. "Take care, darling. Don't let them agitate you."
And just like that, she was gone.
It took rolling out a full tray of cinnamon rolls before I could shake the tension enough to breathe again. Even then, Caden prowled under the surface, hungry and pissed, itching for a fight.
There was one good way to deal with all this. As soon as Maeve came in to relieve me, I drove for the old overlook near the switchback, the one built by some CCC crew eighty years ago, stone wall still holding up against every freeze and thaw.
I killed the engine. The silence was so big it almost buzzed. The quiet gave room for the image of her to rise again, vivid enough that my chest tightened like I was back in the creek catching her all over again.
The sun hung low and gold behind the peaks, shadows stretching for miles. The valley was empty and bright, I could actually see the bones of the land with nothing to hide them.
I leaned forward, both hands cinched on the wheel so hard my knuckles felt ready to pop.
The pulse in my neck thudded, echoing the old argument.
Protect, defend, watch your back, don't screw this up.
My brain knew SkyArc was probably just another bunch of suits looking to pad their pockets, but my gut wasn't buying it.
Not after Mint-Gate and that handshake on the bridge.
Not after the way those men had eyed me, like I was just another box to tick off the acquisition list.
Caden prowled, all teeth and promises. The chill in the air did nothing to cool him off. I sucked in a few deep breaths, watching the plume of my own breath fog the window. I was supposed to be in control, not my dragon, not the old fears.
Finally, I grabbed my phone and scrolled to Xavier's number. My cousin, the sheriff. If anyone in Laurel Gap had a read on new threats, it was him.
I typed out a message.
SkyArc is pinging my danger sense. Who are they other than a development company?
I stared at the words for so long my thumb went numb. Every instinct screamed I was being paranoid, but that had never stopped a disaster before.
After another moment's hesitation, I sent it. Dots appeared and blinked out. Xavier must've been on the other line or halfway up the mountain himself. Either way, he'd get the message.
I set the phone on the dashboard and let my head rest against the seat.
The valley spread out below, winter-bare, and wide open.
It was beautiful, the kind of place people drove from states away to see, but right now it just looked vulnerable.
Like anything could walk in and wreck it if I wasn't paying attention.
I thought about the twins, about Tash, about every messy thread that bound us together. None of them had asked for a security detail, but if trouble was coming, I'd be first in line.
Caden rumbled, approval in every muscle.
I watched the sun slip lower, the light turning to crystal over the trees, and promised myself I'd hold the line as long as it took.
When I started the truck and pointed it home. Caden and I were agreed.