EMMALINE
@TashaFoley84
The line’s already down the block and the doors aren’t even open yet 👀 If you’re not here, you’re missing history in the making. #MaddoxBakeryReturns #CarbsOverEverything
@SuesRenovations
Smells like heaven on Main Street this morning — cinnamon, butter, hope. Y’all, the bakery is BACK. #WorthTheWait #SmallTownBigLove
@DWHunts
Not ashamed to admit I’m first in line. I’ve been dreaming about honey buns for nine months straight. #BreakfastOfChampions #BakeryReopening
@SubLife206
If the cinnamon rolls taste even half as good as this place smells right now, I may never leave. #SendHelp #SugarRushIncoming
@CoffeeJunkieGH
I told y’all: carbs ARE joy. Maddox Bakery opening day = town holiday. Fight me. #CoffeeAndCarbs #LocalLove
@Mo’NiqueMoments
Glitter, grit, and glazed buns — it’s a new dawn on Main Street and we are HERE for it. #SupportLocal #SweetVictory
The scent of cinnamon and butter clung to the air, thick enough to feel like a hug all on its own. I wiped my palms down the front of my apron for the hundredth time and glanced at the clock over the counter. Five minutes until I unlocked the door. Five minutes until I found out if all these months of sweat and stress were enough to bring the bakery back to life.
“You can stop looking like you’re about to face a firing squad.” Mo’nique swept past me with a tray piled high with glossy iced buns. She had her hair wrapped up in a bright scarf and her lipstick on point, because of course she did. “People aren’t coming here to critique you. They’re coming because they’ve been starving without your honey buns and cinnamon rolls.”
I huffed out a laugh and took the tray from her. “I don’t know how I would’ve pulled this off without you.” My throat tightened as I set the buns in the front display case. “Really. I mean it, Mo. You’ve been—” I broke off, blinking fast. “You’ve been a lifesaver.”
She didn’t give me a chance to flounder. Just wrapped me up in a vanilla-scented hug. That embrace grounded me to the spot when I felt as if I might drown. Her cheek brushed mine. “Sugar, your grandma would be proud as punch of what you’ve done here.”
I froze at that, my heart lurching sideways. “Would she?” My voice came out rougher than I meant.
Mo’nique leaned back to search my face, her eyes soft. “Yes. Don’t you doubt it for a second.”
I swallowed hard and turned away, busying myself with straightening napkins by the register. “She’s been missing since the flood, Mo. Nine months and not a word. Not her, not her car, nothing. Everybody says she’s gone, but as long as nobody finds her…” My hand trembled as I flattened the stack. “As long as they don’t find anything, I can’t—” I stopped, pressing my lips together.
Mo’nique laid a hand over mine, steady and warm. “Hope isn’t a weakness, baby girl. It’s what gets us through.”
I nodded, but the knot in my chest didn’t ease. I wanted to believe Gran would be proud of the way I’d scraped this place back together. But some days it seemed like she’d left me with nothing but debts and ghosts.
I glanced toward the big front windows. A knot of people stretched all the way down the block, shading their eyes against the early morning sun as they peeked inside, the way kids look into candy shops. My stomach did a somersault.
Mo’nique gave a little nudge to my shoulder with hers. “Well? They’re waiting for you, sugar. Go on and give them what they came for.”
My pulse kicked harder, but I managed a shaky smile. “Guess there’s no turning back now.”
I crossed to the front, flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN, and swung the door wide.
The response was immediate—voices rising in delighted exclamations as the line began filing in, bringing with them the hum of conversation and the scrape of shoes against freshly refinished floors.
“Oh, Lord, do you smell that?” Tasha Foley gasped, fanning herself as she breathed deep. “I swear carbs equal oxytocin.”
“Smells even better than I remember!” Sue Meechum declared.
Dewey Walker clutched his heart as he stared into the front case. “I thought I’d never get another of those honey buns again.”
“Oh my God, the cinnamon rolls. I need them in my life.” Mrs. Dailey practically had heart eyes as she took her place in line.
Their words made my cheeks burn, and for a moment I had to steady myself against the counter. This wasn’t just another day of business. This was proof the place had a heartbeat again.
Eyes widened as people took in the new layout with reclaimed barn wood accents framing the gleaming glass cases, the bright pendant lights overhead catching the shine off trays of rolls and loaves. I’d kept the bones of what Gran had built—the long counter, the black-and-white tile backsplash, the open shelving crowded with baskets of more bread. But the old had been polished, patched, updated. A warm blend of rustic and modern, sturdy as the mountains around us and fresh enough to carry the place another fifty years, if I had anything to say about it.
It wasn’t the same bakery my grandmother had run for decades. Maybe it never could be. But it was mine now. And standing there, listening to the chorus of approval, I let myself believe—just for a heartbeat—that I might actually pull this off.
By eight-thirty the initial rush had thinned, leaving only the steady hum of conversation as the last few customers settled at the little tables along the front windows. I finally had a chance to lean back against the counter and catch my breath when the bell over the door jingled again.
“Hot damn, you did it!” Adalyn Brewer breezed in, ponytail swinging, eyes wide as she took it all in and grinned like she’d just walked into Disney World.
I point a flour-dusted finger at her. “You do not pay a dime in here. Not after all the hours you put in scraping paint and sanding shelves with me.”
She waved a dismissive hand but looked secretly pleased. “You say that now, but wait until I’m in here every morning draining your profits with my cinnamon roll addiction.” She leaned over the counter, inhaling dramatically. “God, it smells incredible. Everybody in town’s been buzzing about this reopening for weeks, and now it’s all they’re talking about. Like, you’re the main event, Em.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I ducked my head to fuss with a stack of pastry boxes. “It’s just bread and sugar.”
“Uh, excuse you—it’s joy in edible form. The only thing missing is a better coffee menu.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “That’s because you’ve got a problem. You think everything in life can be fixed with caffeine.”
“It can,” she shot back, dead serious.
“Well, that’s your thing, not mine. I’m a tea girl, remember?” I arched a brow. “If you’re so obsessed, perhaps you should open your own coffee shop. Or a truck. You’d make a killing.”
Her eyes gleamed, and she lifted her chin in mock solemnity. “I just might.”
I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. “Lord help us all.”
Before she could retort, the bell jingled again. My smile faltered when I spotted my Aunt Karen, lips pursed like she’d bitten into a lemon, her gaze already sweeping the bakery like she was hunting for flaws.
So much for my moment of peace.
“Well.” She drew the word out as her eyes roved over the shelves and cases. “You certainly… changed things.”
I pasted on a polite smile. “Good morning, Aunt Karen. Can I get you something?”
Her mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “I suppose it’s… nice. Different than Mama’s, of course. She always had such a knack for keeping things simple. None of this fuss with lights and reclaimed wood. But I suppose the young people like it.”
I bit back the reply that wanted to rise—it’s been fifty years, Aunt Karen, perhaps things deserve to change—and instead tucked my hands into the apron ties at my waist. “The idea was to keep the spirit but make it welcoming for today’s customers.”
“Mmm.” She picked up a sample muffin from the tray on the counter, examining it like it might bite her back. “Well, I guess we’ll see if it lasts. Places like this… they come and go. Your grandmother made it work because she knew how to run a business. She had discipline.”
My chest tightened, heat creeping up my neck. She left me this place, and I’ve kept it alive, I wanted to snap. But Karen was already turning her head to take in the small crowd still lingering by the tables.
“I suppose it’s a good thing the Gibsons were so quick to get this block rebuilt. Shame the rest of us had to wait. Some families just have all the luck, don’t they?”
Adalyn, bless her, bristled beside me. “Or maybe they just worked their tails off.”
I laid a warning hand on her arm before she could say more. The last thing I needed was Aunt Karen getting louder. She’d already managed to suck most of the joy out of my morning, and I wasn’t about to let her do the same to Adalyn.
Karen popped the last bite of muffin into her mouth and chewed with exaggerated slowness. “Well. I suppose it’s fine for now. But you mark my words, Emmaline—none of this would be necessary if the Gibsons hadn’t meddled in the first place. Our family’s been paying for their scheming for generations.”
I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. Same tired refrain. Every loss, every stumble, every bad decision—always the Gibsons’ fault. I was so far beyond sick of it, I could’ve screamed. The way most of the family talked, they probably thought the Gibsons were responsible for the flood, too. As if they’d summoned up the hurricane themselves with the express purpose of screwing our family over.
Movement outside the front windows caught my attention, and my chest squeezed when I spotted a tall, broad-shouldered man in uniform walking past. Bodie Gibson. And at his side, a stocky brown-and-white pittie mix I didn’t recognize, tail wagging as she kept perfect pace at his heel.
The door swung open, and Bodie stepped inside, sunlight at his back, badge gleaming, every inch the model chief of police.
For one foolish second, my heart clenched the way it used to, back when he was my best friend, the boy I trusted with all the things I couldn’t tell anyone else. Then I remembered. This was the man who’d cuffed my little brother and taken him away. The reason Wesley had spent most of the past decade behind bars.
“Morning, Emmaline.” As always, his tone was warm and polite. His gaze swept the bakery, and I thought I saw something like pride flicker in his eyes. “Place looks good. Really good.”
I stiffened, busying myself with straightening a tray that didn’t need straightening. “What can I get you?”
The faintest shadow crossed his face, but he didn’t push. Just ordered a breakfast sandwich, like he was any other customer. He paid in exact change, as if he knew I’d refuse his money otherwise, and added, “You ever thought about baking dog treats? Might be a market for it.”
My gaze slid past him to the dog sitting patiently by the door, tail sweeping the floor as she wagged at every person who came and went. Against my better judgment, the corner of my mouth softened. “Who’s that?”
“Rubble.” Pride laced his voice as he glanced back. “Department’s new police dog.”
“She looks sweet.”
“She is,” he said simply.
I cleared my throat, retreating behind the counter again. “I’ll… consider the dog treats.”
His mouth tipped into the faintest smile, like he knew that was the most he was going to get from me. He picked up his order and nodded. “Congratulations on the reopening, Emmaline. You’ve done her proud.”
The words sank deeper than I wanted to admit, but I stayed silent, watching him leave with that long, easy stride. Rubble’s tail thumped once against the doorframe before she followed him out into the morning.
Karen sniffed, loud enough for half the shop to hear. “Well. If that isn’t just perfect. The Gibsons strutting around like they own the place while we scrape by. Don’t let him fool you, Emmaline. They’re the reason we’ve suffered all these years.”
She sailed out on that bitter note, leaving the air colder in her wake. I sagged against the counter, more exhausted than I had any right to be this early in the day as I tried to shake off the sour taste Karen always left behind.
Adalyn slipped around from the customer side, wrapping me up in a quick squeeze. “Don’t you let her ruin this for you, Em. You brought this place back from the dead. That’s no small thing. You should be proud.”
My throat tightened, but I managed a shaky smile. “Thanks.”
The bell jingled again, and in walked Big Wade Washington, his broad frame filling the doorway, his grin wide and easy.
I couldn’t help the way my mood lifted. “Well, if it isn’t the winner of this year’s Great Griddle Games. Here to order your prize?”
“Feels good to have my title back.” His smile flashed bright white against his dark skin, and his eyes twinkled as he leaned on the counter.
“What kind of cake do you want? Winner’s choice.”
He rubbed his chin, pretending to consider, though I suspected he’d been dreaming about this moment since last year’s upset. “Red velvet,” he finally declared. “With cream cheese frosting. Big as you can make it.”
I laughed, already reaching for my order pad. “You got it.”
As I wrote down the details, the tension in my shoulders finally eased. Feeding people, celebrating their victories, seeing their faces light up at something I’d made with my own two hands—this was why I did it. Not the family feuds. Not the whispers. Just this.
And for the first time that morning, I felt certain again. This bakery was worth every ounce of fight.
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