Page 5 of Chasing Stripes

FOUR

Grateful for the change of subject, Artemis outlined some preliminary ideas—updating the menu with a blend of traditional favorites and innovative fae-enhanced treats, refreshing the interior without losing its charm, and possibly adding evening hours to catch the after-dinner crowd.

Throughout their chat, she noticed how both Kalyna and Tilly managed to work references to “that interesting new neighbor” into the conversation, each time pretending it was the first mention.

“You two are ridiculous,” Artemis finally said after Tilly’s third casual inquiry about whether Kalyna had “run into that interesting new neighbor lately.”

“What?” Tilly blinked with exaggerated innocence. “Did I mention him before?”

“Only about twelve times,” Artemis deadpanned.

Kalyna snickered, then tried to contribute helpful information. “I’ve seen him a few times, usually late at night. Carrying boxes into the bar, supervising deliveries. Very hands-on with his business, from what I can tell.”

“Does he live above the bar?” Artemis asked before she could stop herself.

“No, I believe he has a place a bit outside town, closer to the forest. Appropriate for a tiger, I suppose.” Kalyna’s expression grew mischievous. “But maybe you’ll run into him going for coffee or something. Sunrise Diner does amazing breakfast, and it’s just down the street.”

“Subtle,” Artemis rolled her eyes.

“I’ve never claimed to be subtle.” Kalyna laughed.

The conversation flowed easily from there, jumping between bakery plans, town gossip, and memories of their shared childhood. Artemis felt a knot inside her slowly unwinding—a tension she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying. Here, with Tilly and Kalyna, she didn’t have to explain herself or her magic. They knew her, accepted her, loved her unconditionally.

In the city, she’d made acquaintances but few real friends. Her staff had respected her, customers had appreciated her baking, but no one had really knownher—the girl who’d grown up enchanting cookie dough to change flavors based on the eater’s mood, who’d spent summers chasing fireflies and bottling their light for winter decorations, who’d learned to bake by watching her parents turn ordinary ingredients into magical creations.

“Earth to Artemis,” Kalyna waved a hand before her face. “You went somewhere else for a minute there.”

“Sorry,” Artemis blinked. “Just... taking it all in. Being back. Being here with you two.”

Kalyna’s expression softened. “Well, get used to it, because now that you’re home, we’re not letting you disappear again.” She checked her watch and grimaced. “Speaking of disappearing, I have to run. Meeting with Rust about the Spring Festival committee.”

“Spring Festival?” Artemis raised an eyebrow. “It’s barely fall.”

“Welcome to small-town politics,” Kalyna sighed dramatically. “We plan seasons ahead and still end up scrambling the week before. But—” she brightened, “—you should definitely participate this year! Honeycrisp Bakery always had the best booth.”

“Let me get settled first,” Artemis hedged.

“Of course, of course.” Kalyna gathered her purse. “But dinner next week? You, me, Rust, maybe Thora and Artair if they’re free. I want you to meet everyone.”

“I’d love that,” Artemis agreed, meaning it.

After extracting promises that Artemis wouldn’t become a hermit, Kalyna hugged them both and departed in a whirlwind of energy, leaving the bakery feeling oddly quiet in her wake.

“She hasn’t changed a bit,” Artemis remarked, smiling.

“Only gotten more enthusiastic, if that’s possible,” Tilly agreed. “Now, why don’t you take some time to unpack and settle in? I can handle the few afternoon customers we might get.”

Left to her own devices, Artemis decided to start tackling the bakery’s organizational issues. She began in the storeroom, taking inventory of supplies while Tilly handled the single customer who wandered in—an elderly vampire seeking a blood-orange tart for his granddaughter’s birthday.

The cramped storage space smelled of flour and sugar with hints of various spices and flavorings stored on metal shelving units. As Artemis counted bags of flour and made notes about what needed restocking, a framed photograph caught her eye.

It hung on the wall beside a shelf of extracts—her parents on Honeycrisp Bakery’s opening day. Her father stood tall and proud, one arm around her mother’s waist, both beaming with accomplishment. Behind them, a brand-new sign gleamed in the sunshine, and a line of curious customers stretched down the block.

Artemis reached out, touching the glass gently. She remembered that day, though she’d been very young. The excitement, the magic quite literally in the air as her father had created tiny butterflies made of light to entertain the waiting crowd. Her mother’s laughter as the first batch of enchanted pastries sold out within minutes.

A tear slipped down Artemis’s cheek before she could stop it.

“I miss you both,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I stayed away so long. But I’m back now, and I’m going to make you proud.”

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