Page 29 of Where the Music Grows

She peers into the display case. “Oh, those look divine. And how’s your Aunt Aggie? I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

“Same as ever.” I grab a pair of tongs. “One or two bagels today?”

“Better make it two. My grandson is visiting.”

I box up her order, adding an extra bagel on the house. Mrs. Carter’s eyes twinkle when she notices.

“You’re a gem,” she says, patting my hand.

The morning rush hits hard after that—office workers grabbing coffee and pastries, moms with strollers picking up bagels on the run. I juggle orders with practiced ease, chatting and laughing like I don’t have a care in the world.

Smile. Always smile.

By eleven, my cheeks hurt from grinning and my feet ache, but the display case is nearly empty. Success.

Lisa, my coworker, bursts through the door right on time, her curly hair escaping from its messy bun. “Sorry I’m late!”

“You’re not.” I check the clock. “Right on the dot.”

She grins. “Exactly. Late for my standards.”

I laugh as I hand over the apron. Lisa’s been working with me for six months. I grab my phone and snap a picture of one of the empty croissant trays. The only thing left behind are some flaky bits. I quickly upload the picture and add a caption about missing out.

That’s what I do. I’m a social media manager. At least, that’s what I thought I was going to do. Now, I just pull double duty. I post about the bakery. Maybe the owner will give me a bonus—or not.

We clean up the small lobby and then move into the kitchen to start with the next wave of baking.

“I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me,” Lisa says.

“Holding out on you?”

“Yeah, the hot new guy playing guitar at The Hollow Log?”

I pause mid-sip of my lukewarm coffee. “What?”

“Yeah! My cousin went last night. Said some cute guy with a guitar was playing original songs.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You should introduce me. Fresh meat. It’s not often we get hot new guys in town.”

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about. Aggie hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“Everyone is talking about him,” she says.

“I come here and go home,” I mutter. “That’s the extent of my social life these days.”

In the back of my mind, I know exactly why I didn’t know about the hot guy in town. Not because I’m not old enough to go to the bar, but because I haven’t seen Aggie in a couple of weeks. We live on the same stretch of land, but I’ve been too focused on handling my own this.

It’s been...three weeks? Four? Guilt twists in my stomach. Aggie’s always been there for me, and I’ve been too wrapped up in my own mess to check on her. I need to remedy that.

We fall into our afternoon routine—prepping dough for tomorrow, cleaning the monstrous mixer, restocking the display case with the afternoon bake. We have the usual afternoon customers come in for a snack or loading up on muffins for the morning.

“How was your date the other night?” I ask.

Lisa groans. “Oh, my God, don’t even get me started. Colin.” She shakes her head. “I swear, I’m a glutton for punishment.”

I roll my eyes, leaning against the counter as I wipe flour off my hands. “You mean the same Colin who ghosted you after your last date? Or the one who showed up an hour late and forgot his wallet?”

“The same one,” she says. “But this time was worse. So much worse.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How do you top being an hour late and broke?”