Saturday morning greeted Lena with gray skies and the faint scent of rain. She stood behind the bakery counter, hands dusted with flour, a warm tray of cinnamon rolls cooling by the window. The familiar rhythm of baking usually calmed her nerves—but today, it wasn't enough.
Walker hadn't stayed the night. He'd kissed her softly at the door, promised to call, and left with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She hadn't pressed him. But something about the way he lingered in the doorway, like he wanted to say more and couldn't, stuck with her like the scent of cinnamon on her fingertips.
The morning crowd trickled in. Locals, regulars, and one or two tourists who'd heard about her raspberry scones. Lena moved on autopilot, smiling, chatting, pouring coffee, all the while trying to push thoughts of Madeline Hayes to the back of her mind. It wasn't jealousy, she told herself—it was intuition.
She was wiping down the counter when the front door opened, and in walked someone unexpected.
A tall, elegant woman in tailored slacks and a camel-colored coat stepped inside, looking like she belonged on the cover of a business magazine. Sharp cheekbones, a sleek bob, and eyes that swept the bakery with mild curiosity before landing on Lena. A smile followed—polite, practiced, confident.
"Excuse me," the woman said, voice smooth. "Do you have anything left with lemon?"
Lena blinked. "We have lemon poppyseed muffins and lemon bars still warm from the oven."
"I'll take both," the woman said. "And a black coffee."
As Lena rang up her order, the woman studied the display case, then turned back. "You must be Lena. This place is charming."
"I am. Thank you," Lena replied, handing over the change.
The woman accepted her bag of pastries with a nod. "I've heard a lot about you."
Lena froze for just a breath. "I'm sorry—have we met?"
"No," she said, smile widening slightly. "I'm Madeline Hayes."
The name hit harder in person. Lena's fingers curled around the edge of the counter, steadying herself. Madeline extended a perfectly manicured hand.
"It's nice to finally meet the woman who has Walker so... captivated."
Their handshake was brief but firm. Lena kept her voice even. "Welcome to Maple Hill."
Madeline gave a light laugh, slipping her sunglasses back on. "I look forward to getting to know the town better. Especially now."
She left with the scent of lemon trailing behind her and the unsettling sense of a storm just beginning to gather.
Lena stood frozen for a moment after Madeline left, her fingers still curled against the counter. She felt like someone had just tested the boundaries of her world, pressed on them with an elegant finger, and found the cracks. There had been nothing explicitly threatening in Madeline's words—nothing that could be called out directly. But the tone, the posture, the certainty—Lena recognized it for what it was. A warning disguised as a compliment.
She took a steadying breath and turned back to the kitchen, but her chest felt tight. She hated this—feeling uncertain, feeling like she was being pulled into a game she hadn't agreed to play. She had spent years building her independence, learning to stand firm, to be enough on her own. And now, in the quiet of her own bakery, she felt something unfamiliar: vulnerability.
Lena pulled her phone from her pocket and hesitated. Should she call Walker? Tell him what happened? Would that make her look insecure—or paranoid? No. She needed to process this first. Let him focus on his meeting, whatever it was. But her gut wouldn't quiet, the way it twisted at the sight of that smooth smile and the echo of "Walker so... captivated."
By the time the lunch rush hit, Lena had managed to push Madeline out of her mind—at least enough to function. But her conversations felt distant, her smiles didn't quite reach her eyes. She moved with precision, but inside, she was still spinning. And when her phone finally buzzed with Walker's name midafternoon, she stared at it for a long second before answering.
"Hey," his voice came through, warm, familiar, and grounding. "Miss me yet?"
Lena forced a soft laugh. "Only a little."