Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
The gingerbread Fate Mountain rose before Brie, each piece requiring absolute precision.
At four in the morning, Sweet Summit Bakery was her private kingdom of sugar and spice, the only sounds the hum of refrigeration and the tick of cooling ovens.
She pressed another panel into place, the royal icing cement still wet enough to adjust the angle by a crucial two degrees.
Three feet tall when complete, the centerpiece would anchor the festival’s main display.
Each level had taken hours of planning, the templates alone filling an entire notebook with measurements and structural calculations.
The work demanded her complete focus. When she was calculating load-bearing walls made of gingerbread, she wasn’t thinking about cartels or chemists or the way Hunter still watched the street like danger could materialize from thin air.
After a long session of extreme focus, she glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. Sophie usually arrived by five fifteen to start the morning pastries, giving them time to chat before the six AM opening. Brie pulled out her phone and typed a quick message.
“Everything okay? I’ve started the mountain.” The message showed delivered immediately.
Brie returned to her work, carefully attaching snow-white icing peaks to the mountain’s ridges.
Each dollop had to be exactly the right consistency.
Too thin and it would run down the slopes.
Too thick and it would look clumsy rather than natural.
She piped careful icicles along the ledges, then added touches of edible pearl dust to create the shimmer of ice in sunlight.
Her mother had taught her that the difference between good and exceptional lay in these tiny details that most people would never consciously notice but would feel in the overall impression.
The back door opened at six AM sharp, and Jake’s voice called out, “Morning, boss!”
“Morning,” she replied, not looking up.
Jake appeared in the doorway, unwinding his scarf. “Where’s Sophie?”
“Running late, I guess.” Brie stepped back to examine her work.
“Huh. That’s not like her.”
No, it wasn’t. But Brie didn’t want to think about that right now. She had six more ridge lines to pipe before they opened, and the temperature had to be exactly right, or the royal icing would lose its peaks.
By eight thirty, the morning rush was in full swing, and Sophie still hadn’t appeared. Jake was doing his best, but he couldn’t work the register and pull espresso shots simultaneously. A line had formed, customers checking phones and shifting impatiently.
“Large cappuccino, extra foam,” Brie called out, sliding the cup across the counter before immediately turning to the next customer. “What can I get you?”
She’d had to abandon the mountain three times already to help with orders. Each interruption meant the royal icing dried a little more, making it harder to achieve seamless joints between pieces. Her phone sat silent on the back counter, no explanation from Sophie.
Between customers, she grabbed it and typed another message.
“Hey, getting slammed here. When can you make it in?”
Delivered. Not read.
The bell chimed, and she looked up to see Mrs. Patterson entering with her book club friends, all of them expecting their usual table and their usual orders, which Sophie always handled because she remembered everyone’s modifications.
“I’ll be right with you ladies,” Brie said, forcing brightness into her voice.
After the book club was settled, she made her way to Hunter’s corner table with the coffee pot. He sat in his usual position, laptop open but his eyes tracking movement on the street beyond the window. His shoulders held the coiled readiness of someone expecting trouble.
“Sophie’s MIA and you’re still acting like we’re under siege,” she said, refilling his mug.
He looked up at her, and she saw him consciously relax his posture. “The threat assessment was clear. We’re safe.”
His words said one thing, but his body language screamed otherwise. “Then why do you look like you’re waiting for an invasion?”
“Old habits.” He attempted a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hard to turn off when your mate was in danger.”
She wanted to press further, but the bell chimed again, and three more customers entered. As she walked away, she heard him shift his chair slightly, improving his angle to watch both the door and the window.
Sophie knew this was festival week. She knew how important these seven days were to the bakery’s annual revenue. Even if she was sick, even if she’d had car trouble, even if there’d been some kind of emergency, she could have sent a text. Something. Anything.
The morning rush finally slowed around ten, leaving Brie time to return to the mountain.
Two more levels to go, each requiring perfect placement before the next could be added.
She was piping decorative icicles when her phone buzzed.
Her heart jumped, but it was just the supplier confirming Thursday’s delivery.
By noon, the delivered but unread messages to Sophie had become a constant low-level irritation, like a splinter she couldn’t quite reach. Maggie arrived for the afternoon shift at one, bringing a blast of December air through the door.
“Thank god you’re here,” Jake said from behind the register. “I’m dying.”
“Where’s Sophie?” Maggie asked, tying on her apron.
Brie’s patience, already worn thin, frayed a little more. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Is she sick?”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t called.”
Maggie and Jake exchanged glances, the kind that meant they were having a silent conversation about whether to say something. Brie turned back to her work before they could decide.
The second gingerbread house was smaller than the mountain but more intricate, with Victorian-style details that required a steady hand and perfect timing. She’d just positioned the main supporting wall when her phone rang. Sophie’s ringtone. Finally.
But when she grabbed the phone, it was the supplier again, calling to confirm she’d received the text.
She set the phone down harder than necessary and returned to the gingerbread house. The royal icing had already started to set, making it harder to achieve the perfect angle. She pressed gently, trying to coax the wall into position.
The wall collapsed.
Not just tilted or cracked. Completely collapsed, taking the adjacent wall with it in a cascade of broken gingerbread and ruined icing. Hours of work destroyed in seconds.
“Damn it!” The word escaped before she could stop it, loud enough that Jake and Maggie both looked over.
“You okay, boss?” Jake asked.
“Fine. I’m fine.” She stared at the wreckage. Without Sophie to mix new royal icing while she cut replacement pieces, this would set her back at least three hours. “I can’t believe Sophie didn’t show up or even bother to contact me. She knows this is our biggest week.”
She pulled out her phone and called Sophie directly. It rang once, then went to voicemail. Sophie’s cheerful voice asking callers to leave a message felt like mockery.
“Sophie, it’s Brie. I really need you to call me back. Please.”
She ended the call and immediately saw Hunter watching her from his table. When their eyes met, he looked away, but not before she caught something in his expression. Concern? Suspicion? She couldn’t tell.
As she began cleaning up the destroyed gingerbread, she noticed Hunter pull out his phone. He stepped outside to take the call, but through the window she could see his body language shift into something harder. His free hand gestured sharply as he spoke.
The federal agents had said Brennan was dead, that his body simply hadn’t been found in the wilderness. But Hunter’s tone today suggested he wasn’t convinced it was over.
She turned back to the ruined gingerbread house, pulling apart the salvageable pieces. Her hands shook from frustration as she worked.
The afternoon wore on. She cut new gingerbread panels while Maggie struggled through unfamiliar recipes and Jake managed the register.
Every few minutes, she found herself checking her phone.
Still nothing from Sophie. She better be in the hospital or have an equally serious excuse for this disappearing act.
Jake appeared at her elbow. “Maybe something happened to her?” he said quietly. “Like, really happened? This isn’t like Sophie.”
The defense of her absent employee made Brie’s irritation spike. She was exhausted, covered in flour and icing, three hours behind schedule, and the person she’d trained and trusted had vanished without a word.
“She could have at least called,” Brie said, hearing the sharp edge in her own voice.
Jake backed off, hands raised slightly in surrender, and he returned to the register.
Her phone buzzed. Text message. She grabbed it eagerly, but it was from the festival coordinator, asking about booth placement and setup timeline.
Brie stared at the message, her hands still sticky with royal icing, gingerbread crumbs under her fingernails, and typed back a response she hoped sounded more professional than she felt.
When she finished, she opened her message thread with Sophie. All those unread messages stared back at her, a one-sided conversation growing increasingly desperate. She typed one more, not caring anymore if she sounded angry.
“This is really unprofessional. At least let me know you’re alive.”
She hit send and watched it show delivered. Like all the others, it remained unread.