Page 44 of Echoes of a Southern Song

I post it and set my phone down, but it buzzes almost immediately. A comment pops up from a regular customer. “On my way! Save me one!”

I smile and make a mental note to set one aside.

The hours blur together in a haze of coffee orders, pastry requests, and the occasional mess to clean up. By mid-morning, the bakery is still bustling. Lisa and I work well together. We have a dance: she serves, I bake. She bakes, I serve.

By the time I get a break, it’s nearly noon, and I’ve been on my feet for nearly seven straight hours. My stomach growls, demanding food that isn’t loaded with sugar.

“I’m going to grab a sandwich,” I say to Lisa.

Lisa nods, wiping her hands on her apron. “Take your time. I can hold down the fort for a bit.”

I duck into the back room and grab my purse, suddenly realizing I haven’t eaten since last night’s burrito. My stomach growls louder as I step out into the bright afternoon sun. There’s a small deli just a block away. I’ve been there a few times before—it’s nothing fancy, but their sandwiches are solid.

The smell of fresh bread and roasted meats hits me immediately, making my mouth water. I scan the chalkboard menu, settling on a turkey club with extra avocado. While I wait for my order, I pull out my phone and check my notifications. A few likes on my latest post with some positive comments from people who are regulars.

I smile to myself at the positive feedback. It’s not much, but it’s an acknowledgement of my work.

My sandwich is ready a few minutes later, wrapped in crisp white paper. I grab a bottle of water from the cooler and head back to the bakery, already feeling more human with food in hand. I finally get to plop down in the back with my sandwich.

I take a bite and lean back, savoring the flavor as I chew.

And that’s when it hits me.

He didn’t come inside.

The bread suddenly dry in my mouth. Last night was nice. Really nice, actually. We worked on the song, laughed, kissed like we missed each other—because we did. I know we did.

So why didn’t he stay?

Why didn’t he at least ask? Or try to make a move like he wanted to throw me on the bed and have his way with me.

He used to. That first week, he barely left. He made it clear he wanted to be near me. But now... I don’t know. It’s like he’s doing his own thing again. The bar, his music, disappearing out to that campsite like a ghost with a guitar.

Maybe he’s over it.

He’s young. A rambler. I don’t even know how long he’s going to be in town.

My stomach tightens. I know how women look at him at the bar. I’ve seen it. Heard it. Tall, rugged, rockstar vibes with those stunning blue eyes. He’s basically a walking heartthrob. It’s a surprise Hollywood hasn’t scooped him up yet.

I know he has that kind of potential. How long before he leaves me and this small town behind?

Meanwhile, I’m running a bakery, half covered in flour most days, freaking out about a trial that feels like the climax of a story I don’t even remember starting. I’ve got baggage stacked higher than my house and a past I can’t quite outrun.

Why would he choose me?

My phone ringing pulls me out of the spiral I’m caught up in.

My heart skips when I look at the screen.

Oh no.

I swipe the screen before the call goes to voicemail, breath catching in my throat. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Melissa from Mr. Langley’s office. Is this Jinnie Parker?”

“Yes. Speaking.”

“Hi there. I wanted to let you know that your court date has been officially scheduled for next week—Wednesday at ten a.m. Also, we’ll need you to come in Monday afternoon to go over your testimony and prep.”