Tuesday morning dawned crisp and golden. The bakery smelled like lemon zest, sugar, and just a hint of something floral—Lena's new experiment: lemon-lavender scones. Her dad had always encouraged her to try unusual pairings, saying, "Great flavors, like great people, sometimes need time to bloom."
She set a few aside on a separate tray just in case they were too much of a gamble for the breakfast crowd. But when the bell jingled at 8:03 a.m., and Walker Harper walked in with his usual sleepy smile, she knew exactly who she'd give one to.
"You're three minutes late," she teased.
"I had to fight two old ladies for a parking spot," he said, stepping up to the counter. "Worth it, though."
She handed him a warm scone wrapped in parchment. "Today's mystery flavor."
He took a bite, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Wow. What is that?"
"Lemon-lavender."
"Fancy."
She folded her arms. "Too fancy?"
He shook his head, chewing thoughtfully. "It's unexpected. Kind of like you."
Lena blinked, caught off guard. "Is that a compliment?"
"Absolutely," he said, smiling.
Their eyes locked for a second too long. Lena turned quickly to adjust the display case. "Don't expect me to experiment just for you."
"No expectations," he said lightly, though there was a flicker of something more in his voice.
Before she could say anything else, the door opened again. This time, the new arrival wasn't a familiar face.
A woman in her late twenties with perfectly sleek black hair and designer sunglasses walked in, glancing around like she didn't want to touch anything. Her heels clicked sharply as she approached the counter.
"Is this the only place in town with espresso?" she asked, not unkindly, but not warmly either.
"Yes," Lena said, offering a polite smile. "Can I get you something?"
"Double shot oat milk latte. Extra hot. No foam."
Lena nodded, working the machine.
The woman looked past her, noticing Walker. "Walker Harper?"
Walker straightened. "Madeline?"
Madeline smiled. "It's been a while."
Lena's hands stilled for half a second.
"We ran into each other in New York last year," Walker explained. "She's in real estate."
"Commercial development," Madeline corrected, eyes flicking toward Lena's scone tray. "This place is charming in a vintage kind of way. Surprised you haven't turned it into a boutique coffee shop by now, Walker."
"It's not mine," he said, a touch sharper than usual. "It's Lena's."
Madeline's smile faltered, just slightly. "Oh. Of course."
Lena handed over the drink, suddenly feeling invisible.
"Well," Madeline said, sipping. "If either of you ever think about selling, I know a few investors who'd love a piece of small-town nostalgia."
Walker's jaw tightened. "I'm sure Lena's not looking to sell."
"Not remotely," Lena added, steady.
Madeline held up her cup. "Enjoy your morning."
She left, and the silence that followed stretched like a taut wire.
Walker sighed. "She's… not really my type."
Lena gave a tight smile. "Didn't ask."
He studied her face. "You okay?"
"Fine."
But she wasn't.
Not because of Madeline. But because of how easy it was for someone like her to walk in and rattle what Lena had spent weeks rebuilding—what she was starting to feel with Walker.
She didn't want to feel threatened. She wanted to feel enough.