Chapter 15
First Slice
Recipe Tip: Taste before you decide. A good baker doesn't just follow a recipe—she pays attention to what the food is telling her.
Sunday morning arrived bright and cold.
The kind of Vermont morning that made the sky look freshly scrubbed.
Tessa stood outside Second Rise Bakery with a cup of coffee warming both hands and stared at the street.
Festival banners fluttered overhead.
Delivery trucks rolled toward Main Street.
Somewhere nearby, someone was frying bacon.
Normally, Sunday morning would have meant music playing in the bakery, dough rising on the counter, and Pretzel occupying the warmest patch of sunlight as though he paid rent.
But today, Tessa couldn't settle.
She had barely slept.
Every time she'd closed her eyes, she'd seen the walnut on the counter.
Then the open back door.
Then Pretzel's raised fur.
Then Desmond's face.
Let the police handle it.
She had promised herself she would trust her instincts.
So why was she standing outside her bakery wondering whether she should ignore them?
"Because I'm an idiot," she muttered.
Pretzel appeared in the doorway.
He looked offended.
"You weren't invited into this conversation."
Pretzel blinked.
Tessa sighed.
"Fine. You're right."
She grabbed her coat.
"I need breakfast."
Pretzel followed her three steps before stopping.
"You're staying here."
He sat.
"You are absolutely not coming with me."
Pretzel blinked.
"I mean it."
He blinked again.
Tessa pointed at him.
"Don't make that face."
He made the face.
She left anyway.
The Copper Kettle sat at the end of Main Street, its windows fogged from the warmth inside.
Desmond's restaurant was already busy.
Festival weekend had turned the place into a revolving door of tourists, locals, musicians, vendors, and people who had apparently decided that maple syrup was a food group.
Tessa hesitated outside.
She hadn't planned to come here.
At least, she told herself she hadn't.
But her feet had brought her here.
Instinct.
That was what she was learning to trust.
She walked inside.
A server recognized her.
"Tessa! Table for one?"
"Please."
She was shown to a small table near the window.
A basket of warm bread sat in the center.
Tessa glanced at it.
Then froze.
Banana bread.
She stared.
The loaf was sliced thickly.
Golden brown.
Soft center.
Darkened edges.
And sitting among the slices were small pieces of walnut.
Her stomach tightened.
She leaned closer.
There was something else.
A faint sheen on the crust.
A maple glaze.
And underneath it, the bright citrus scent of orange.
Tessa stopped breathing for a second.
Maple.
Orange.
Walnut.
The same combination she'd smelled at Garrick's forge.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the table.
"No."
A server passed behind her.
"Everything okay?"
Tessa looked up.
"Yes."
The answer came too quickly.
The server smiled.
"Coffee?"
"Please."
She walked away.
Tessa stared at the bread.
She didn't touch it.
Not yet.
Her mind was moving too quickly.
Garrick's bench.
The loaf beside him.
The smell she'd dismissed because she thought she was in shock.
Maple.
Orange.
No cardamom.
Walnuts.
She had been so certain the bread wasn't hers.
Because it wasn't.
Her recipe had cardamom.
Pepitas.
Brown butter.
No walnuts.
No orange.
No maple glaze.
She reached toward the basket.
Then stopped.
"Taste before you decide."
The words came back to her.
Her grandmother had said them whenever Tessa made something she didn't understand.
Don't guess.
Taste.
The first slice was always evidence.
Tessa picked up a small piece.
She smelled it.
Maple first.
Then orange.
Then banana.
And finally—
walnut.
Her pulse quickened.
She took the smallest bite.
The crumb was moist.
Dense.
Slightly tangy.
Not unpleasant.
But completely different from hers.
Tessa chewed slowly.
Her eyes narrowed.
There was no cardamom.
None.
She knew what cardamom tasted like.
She knew what it smelled like.
She had spent years measuring it.
Grinding it.
Burning it.
Adding too much.
Adding too little.
She could identify it blindfolded.
This wasn't her bread.
It was the bread from Garrick's forge.
Or something made to look like it.
Tessa set the slice down.
A strange calm settled over her.
She wasn't guessing anymore.
She had tasted it.
And now she knew.
A chair scraped across the floor.
"Tessa?"
She looked up.
Desmond stood beside the table.
He smiled.
"Didn't expect to see you here."
"I didn't expect to be here."
He laughed.
"That's one way to start a Sunday."
His gaze dropped to the banana bread.
"You tried it?"
Tessa nodded.
"It's good."
"Family recipe?"
"No."
Something flickered across his face.
Gone almost immediately.
"I thought you'd appreciate it."
Tessa looked at him.
"Do you serve banana bread often?"
"Only during festival week."
"With walnuts?"
Desmond smiled.
"People like walnuts."
Tessa nodded slowly.
"Apparently."
A server arrived with coffee.
Desmond stepped aside.
"I'll let you enjoy breakfast."
"Thanks."
He walked away.
Tessa watched him go.
She looked back at the bread.
Then at Desmond.
Then at the bread again.
Her instincts whispered.
But she didn't have enough.
Not yet.
She needed proof.
Something concrete.
Something that couldn't be dismissed as nerves or coincidence.
She reached for her phone.
Before she could unlock it, something tugged at her coat.
Tessa looked down.
A gray paw disappeared beneath the table.
She sighed.
"Absolutely not."
Pretzel emerged from beneath the neighboring table with a napkin in his mouth.
Tessa stared.
"How did you get here?"
Pretzel trotted away.
"Pretzel!"
Several diners turned.
The cat stopped.
He looked back at her.
The napkin dangled from his mouth.
Tessa hurried after him.
"Give me that."
Pretzel turned his head.
"No."
He walked faster.
"That's not yours."
Pretzel slipped behind the service counter.
A server laughed.
"Is that your cat?"
"Unfortunately."
Pretzel dropped the napkin.
Tessa grabbed it.
"Thank you."
Then she noticed something.
There was a smear on the napkin.
A tiny crumb.
Brown-gold.
She frowned.
She held it closer.
The crumb looked familiar.
Very familiar.
Tessa's heart began beating faster.
She remembered Garrick's forge.
The bench.
The half-eaten loaf.
The crumbs scattered near his hand.
One particular crumb had been stuck to the edge of the ledger.
She had noticed it without understanding why.
Same golden-brown edge.
Same dark fleck.
Same glossy surface.
She looked at the banana bread basket.
Then at the napkin.
Then back at the bread.
Her mouth went dry.
This wasn't just the same flavor.
It wasn't merely the same ingredients.
It was the same crumb.
The same crust.
The same bread.
Tessa slowly stood.
Across the restaurant, Desmond laughed with a customer.
Everything looked normal.
Warm.
Friendly.
Safe.
But Tessa couldn't hear the conversation anymore.
All she could hear was the quiet voice inside her head.
The bread at Garrick's forge didn't come from Second Rise.
She looked down at Pretzel.
The cat stared back at her.
His expression was smug.
Almost unbearably smug.
Tessa whispered,
"Good boy."
Pretzel blinked.
For once, she didn't care whether anyone thought she was imagining things.
She had tasted the evidence.
And now she knew exactly what she was looking for.
The question was no longer who had changed her bread.
The question was—
who had brought Garrick's bread to the forge?