By the time Friday rolled around, Lena found herself running on adrenaline and coffee. The bakery was thriving—customers flocked in not just for pastries but to be part of something bigger. The petition was closing in on 500 signatures, and local news outlets were requesting interviews.
Ava had jokingly started calling her "The Muffin Revolutionary."
"Careful," Ava said while boxing up cinnamon rolls. "You're one good quote away from a documentary deal."
Lena laughed. "Only if you promise to narrate."
But beneath the humor, Lena was still grappling with the weight of what Walker had proposed. Partnering with Harper Holdings. Franchising. Expansion. It sounded exciting—but also terrifying.
What if she wasn't enough? What if she lost the heart of what the bakery meant?
So when Walker texted her that afternoon with a cryptic message—"Clear your evening. Trust me."—she was skeptical, but intrigued.
At 6:00 PM sharp, he appeared at the front door of the bakery with two helmets, a leather jacket over his usual crisp shirt, and a gleam in his eyes.
"A motorcycle?" she asked, brow raised.
"A borrowed one," he admitted. "And I promise I'll drive like an overprotective grandmother."
Lena hesitated for only a second before grabbing the second helmet. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
They rode through town and out past the hills, the spring wind cool and clean. The stress melted with every curve of the road, and by the time they pulled up to the hilltop vineyard just outside of town, Lena was grinning beneath her helmet.
Walker helped her off the bike and gestured ahead.
There, under a string of fairy lights, was a small table set for two. A picnic basket, wine glasses, and a view that stretched for miles.
"You kidnapped me for wine and snacks?" she teased.
"I kidnapped you for a breath," he said. "You haven't taken one all week."
She let out a slow exhale. "Fair point."
They sat, sipping chilled rosé and eating strawberries and brie from the basket. The sun dipped low, casting the hills in warm amber.
Walker reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded napkin. He handed it to her.
"What's this?"
She opened it—and laughed.
Inside was a rough sketch of a bakery layout. It wasn't much more than stick figures and lopsided tables, but at the top it read: Hart & Hearth—Franchise Model #1.
"Don't worry," he said. "The real draft has actual walls. This is just… my version of hope."
Lena folded it carefully and slipped it into her pocket.
"I'm not sure about franchising yet," she said honestly. "But I am sure about this place. About you."
Walker leaned closer. "Then that's enough for me."
As the stars blinked to life above them, Lena felt something settle inside her—not fear, not pressure, but peace.
Because this wasn't just about saving a bakery anymore.
It was about building something—together.
Something that might actually last.
As they packed up the picnic basket and began the quiet ride back toward town, Lena held tightly to Walker, her cheek pressed against his back. The wind whipped past them, but all she could feel was warmth—his steady presence, the thrum of the engine, the steady beat of something new and real between them. For the first time in a long while, she wasn't chasing after the next thing, or fearing what might go wrong. She was simply there, in the moment—with him. And that, she realized, was the kind of love she'd always dreamed of. Not perfect. Not planned. But beautifully, quietly, exactly what she needed.