The sweet scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and butter filled the little bakeshop on Maple Street. Sabrina wiped flour from her cheek with the back of her hand, her apron already smudged with streaks of red velvet batter and powdered sugar. The buzz of morning hadn’t stopped—not even for a second.
Outside, a line had formed halfway down the block. Inside, customers filled the air with excited chatter. Half of them were asking about the chocolate eclairs, the other half not-so-subtly eyeing the woman behind the counter.
Sabrina McFee.
The girl from that video. The fake fiancée. The woman who made hearts soften with her honesty, and now, apparently, the baker whose pastries were in higher demand than ever.
Behind the counter, Macy shouted over the espresso machine, “Another dozen raspberry tar
