Sunday brought quiet to the town. The kind of quiet that pressed in and made you notice things—like how empty a house could feel after a long day, or how loud your thoughts got when no one else was around.
Lena stood in her father's old office at the back of the bakery, the door creaking on its hinges. The room still smelled faintly of pipe tobacco and cinnamon, like memories lingering too long.
She hadn't touched much in here—just dusted and kept the window cracked open for fresh air. His desk was still cluttered with receipts, a half-filled crossword, and a photo of her as a kid holding a tray of sugar cookies.
She smiled, even as her eyes stung.
A knock came from the back door.
She wasn't expecting anyone.
When she opened it, there he was—Walker, holding two coffees and a brown bag.
"I didn't see you at the shop this morning," he said. "Figured I'd bring breakfast to you for a change."
She hesitated for half a second before stepping aside. "Come in."
He walked through the kitchen and stopped just short of the office door.
"Wow," he said softly. "I haven't seen this room since… God, high school?"
She nodded. "I haven't done anything with it yet. Can't bring myself to."
He handed her a coffee. "Maybe you don't have to change it. Maybe it just needs new life."
They stood in the doorway sipping their drinks, the silence comfortable.
"I owe you an apology," he said finally. "For disappearing Friday afternoon. I got pulled into a meeting, and then the board threw a curveball at me."
Lena glanced at him. "What kind of curveball?"
"They want to push through a downtown development plan. Commercial buildings, franchise cafés, boutiques. They mentioned this block."
Her stomach dropped.
"You mean this block?" she asked, voice sharp.
He nodded, wincing. "I told them no. That it would destroy the character of the town. And I especially told them the bakery wasn't an option."
She stared at him, unsure whether to feel relieved or nervous. "So they listened?"
"For now," he said. "But they'll try again. They always do."
Lena stepped into the office, placing her coffee down. "Why did you fight for this place?"
He followed her in. "Because it matters. Because you matter."
There it was again—something unspoken between them, pulling tighter.
"I've been thinking," he continued. "About my dad. About legacy. I always thought it meant building something bigger. More. But maybe it's also about protecting what's already good."
Lena leaned against the desk. "That's what this place is. It was never meant to be flashy. It was supposed to feel like home."
He stepped closer. "That's what you are, Lena. You feel like home."
Her breath caught.
"I don't want to mess this up," he said. "But I can't pretend I don't feel something when I'm around you."
Lena looked up at him. Her heart pounded.
"I feel it too," she whispered.
There was a beat—just long enough for the fear to rise—before Walker reached for her hand.
And in that quiet Sunday office, where the past lingered and the future felt uncertain, Lena allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, love could rise again.