The Town Bakes Back

The air, usually a symphony of honking cars and Mrs. Gable’s questionable opera practice, had softened. It was, for the first time in what felt like a gazillion years, a gentle hum. A hum that smelled suspiciously like…butter. And sugar. And a hint of cinnamon that tickled my nose in the most delightful way. It was the scent of baking. Glorious, warm, melt-in-your-mouth baking.

“See? I told you,” I whispered to Leo, nudging him with my elbow as we ambled down Maple Street. He was, as usual, fiddling with his phone, his thumbs a blur of motion as he navigated some virtual battlefield.

He grunted, not looking up. “Told me what? That the world is about to be destroyed by a horde of pixelated goblins?”