Page 238 of Lost Then Found
I blink.
He says it like it’s just another business. But Magnolia & Main isn’t just a bakery. It’s an empire wrapped in velvet ribbon and lavender frosting. It’s been on every magazine cover, every influencer’s vlog, every top ten write-up of “places you have to try before you die.” Their croissants are practically copyrighted. People take road trips just to get a picture under their neon signs.
I stare at him.
This isn’t an investment. It’s a strategy. He couldn’t take the Bluebell from me, so now he’ll try to drown it—siphon off every tourist dollar, every brunch reservation, every person who wants to say they’ve been somewhere that’s been on TV.
He’s not trying to build something.
He’s trying to bleed me dry.
Wendell leans in slightly, his voice adopting a casual drawl that doesn’t quite match the sharpness in his eyes. “You know, Magnolia & Maingot a nice boost a couple years back when they were featured on Martha Stewart’s show. Been booming ever since.”
I keep my expression neutral.
He gestures toward the window, indicating the building across the street. “Bringing them here could do wonders for Summit Springs. More tourists, more foot traffic. It’s the kind of growth this town needs.”
I fold my arms, leveling my gaze at him. “Growth for who, exactly?”
He offers a placating smile. “For everyone. A rising tide lifts all ships, right?”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Let’s not pretend this is about the community. You couldn’t buy the Bluebell, so now you’re trying to box me in.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Just a businessman seizing an opportunity.”
“We’ll see how that works out for you.”
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then tips his hat. “Good luck, Lark.”
As Wendell saunters to his usual booth, a few regulars intercept him along the way. Hands clap his back, voices murmur greetings, heads nod in respect. The town’s golden boy, receiving his due adulation. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes, instead focusing on the countertop, tracing the grain of the wood with my fingertip.
The Bluebell has stood the test of time, weathered storms both literal and figurative. Its walls have absorbed decades of laughter, tears, whispered secrets, and clinking coffee cups. There’s a legacy here, one that can’t be overshadowed by a flashy newcomer, no matter how many magazine features it boasts.
I glance around the diner, taking in the familiar faces. These are the people who have kept the Bluebell alive, their loyalty woven into the very fabric of this place. They’ve been here long before Magnolia & Main became a household name, and I have faith they’ll stay for a while yet.
Dawn leans a hip against the counter, folding her arms as she eyes the buzz of the room. “Tate’s always been shady. Even if he does end upbuilding that bakery, you know we’ve all got your back.”
I turn toward her, keeping my tone even. “I know. I’m lucky.” My eyes meet hers, and I let the silence stretch for a beat longer than usual. “Really lucky to have everyone’s loyalty.”
She smiles, but there’s something stiff about it. Like she can’t quite get it to stick.
“Josie,” I call, my voice steady. She’s wiping down a booth with one hand and waving to a table with the other. “You good to take the front for a bit? I’ve got stuff to take care of in the office.”
She gives me a quick nod, already moving. “Yeah, I got it.”
I disappear into the back, the door swinging shut behind me. The office is stuffy, sun creeping through the blinds in narrow, dusty strips. I stand there for a moment, running my hands over my face, pressing my palms into my eyes until all I see are starbursts of color.
I’m so tired of pretending I’m okay with whatever happens. Tired of being the girl who swallows her words and smiles like she isn’t angry, like she isn’t scared. When Boone left, I didn’t ask him to stay. I told myself it was about being strong, about not making him feel guilty or feeling obligated to stay. I wanted him to be happy. I just…wanted that happiness to include me, somehow, without me having to say the words.
But maybe silence didn’t feel like strength to him. Maybe it felt like permission.
I lower my hands, breathing in through my nose. Wendell Tate doesn’t get to take the Bluebell from me just because I’ve never really stood up to him. I’m not that girl anymore.
Alice used to say,“A voice is like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it gets. Don’t wait for the world to hand you permission to speak.”
She was right. I won’t wait anymore.
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