Chapter 32
Ella
It’s been two weeks since the city’s compliance letter arrived.
Two weeks since the bakery stopped feeling safe and started feeling like a countdown clock.
Today is the day.
I’ve been here since before sunrise, pacing between the counter and the back room like that might somehow help. Every single thing on the list—every citation, every note written in cold municipal language—I’ve touched, fixed, adjusted, or obsessed over until my brain feels frayed.
The shelves are spaced exactly as required by code. I measured them three times.
The fire extinguisher is mounted at the correct height, the bracket drilled in with a confidence I did not feel at the time. The exit sign has been replaced entirely because the flicker might have been nothing, but I couldn’t risk nothing.
The storage room looks like it belongs in a magazine. The back hallway is clear. The aisles are wide. The paperwork is printed, stacked, and waiting on the counter, like proof that I tried.
We should be fine.
We are fine.
And still—
Given how sketchy the inspection felt the first time, how aggressive the citations were, how fast everything escalated—do I even know if any of this will matter?
The bell above the door jingles.
My heart jumps straight into my throat.
I look up, bracing.
It’s just a customer.
I exhale, forcing a smile as I help them, my eyes flicking back to the door every few seconds like it might betray me.
Ashton still isn’t here.
I check the clock.
She’s late.
Of all the days.
I try not to let irritation creep in, but it does anyway, sharp and unwelcome. Ashton is never late. She’s the kind of person who shows up early, prepared, caffeinated, and already three steps ahead of everyone else in the room.
Except today.
The bell rings again.
My pulse spikes.
Another customer.
Another exhale.
This repeats three more times—bell, panic, disappointment—until my nerves feel like exposed wire.
Finally, the door opens again.
I don’t even look up right away. I’m too tired to hope.
Then I hear her voice.
“Hey.”
I snap my head up.
“Ashton,” I say, relief and frustration crashing together. “You’re late.”
She blinks. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Do you have any idea what day it is?” I ask, lowering my voice but not my intensity. “Of all days to be late, today is not the day.”
She sets her bag down calmly. Too calmly.
“Ella,” she says, “you need to breathe.”
I scoff. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“It’s fine,” she says. “He’s not coming.”
I freeze. “What?”
She meets my eyes. “He’s not coming in.”
Confusion rushes in fast. “What do you mean he’s not coming in? Today is the reinspection.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
She steps closer, lowering her voice. “I dealt with it.”
I stare at her. “You—what does that mean?”
“It means I took care of it.”
My breath catches, this time in a completely different way. “Ashton, that doesn’t make sense. You can’t just—take care of something like this.”
“I can,” she says gently. “And I did.”
She leans against the counter like she’s about to explain a recipe instead of dismantling my entire nervous system.
“I knew something was off,” she continues. “The way the inspection was handled. The way everything escalated. That wasn’t standard. So, I looked into him.”
My stomach flips. “You looked into the health inspector?”
“Yes,” she says. “And before you panic—professionally.”
“Please tell me what that means,” I whisper.
“It means I verified credentials. Compared reports. Checked procedure. And then I kept going.”
“And?”
“And he wasn’t doing everything by the book,” she says. “There were inconsistencies. Complaints. Things he shouldn’t have been doing. Nothing illegal—but not professional either.”
My pulse roars in my ears.
“Let’s just say his department has been made aware of his actions.”
I stare at her.
“You can just do things like that?” I say. “You’re making it sound like—”
“Ella,” she interrupts softly. “All you need to know is that I handled it. Cleanly. Correctly. You don’t have to worry about today, the citations were… reconsidered.”
I swallow. “So, this is… over?”
She hesitates.
“For now,” she says. “They might come back eventually. Just not like this. And not today.”
The weight in my chest loosens—just a little.
I let myself lean against the counter, my knees suddenly weak. “So, we’re okay.”
“Yes,” she says. “We’re okay.”
I close my eyes for a moment, breathing for the first time all morning.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
Then I look at her properly.
“You work here. You’re in law school. You did this—when?” I ask. “This morning?”
She shrugs. “Last night. This morning. A little of both.”
I stare at her, awe creeping in. “Do you sleep?”
“Occasionally,” she says. “Usually when you’re not spiraling.”
I laugh, the sound shaky but real.
I step forward and hug her, tight and sudden. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She hugs me back. “You don’t have to.”
We pull apart, and she slings her bag over her shoulder.
“Oh,” she adds casually. “And I also figured out how to get Bishop out of his contract.”
I blink. “You did what?”
She grins. “We’ll talk later.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed, grateful, and—finally—steady.
The threat isn’t gone. I know that. Somewhere out there, a development company is still circling.
But for now?
I’m not alone.
And that’s enough to let me breathe.