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.”
