Chapter 2~ The Last Spark

Elodie’s POV

The red notice trembles in my hand like it’s alive. I fold it once, twice, until it’s small enough to shove into the drawer with the others. My fingers won’t stop shaking. I stare at the closed drawer as if it might disappear if I look away long enough.

The bakery is silent now. Just the hum of the fridge in the back and the faint drip from the sink I never fixed. I should clean up, lock up, and go home. Instead, I sit there, numb, counting how many days are left until Christmas Eve turns into Christmas morning and everything my grandmother built gets taken.

Twenty-one days.

I press my palms to my eyes until spots dance behind my lids. Twenty-four days to find almost two hundred thousand euros. Twenty-four days to fix the allergy mess that just cost me my most loyal customer and probably half the town. Twenty-four days to prove I’m not the failure everyone already thinks I am.

A soft knock on the office door makes me jump.

“Elodie?” Mara’s voice is careful, like she’s testing ice. “You okay in there?”

I wipe my face quickly, even though she can’t see me. “Yeah. Just… finishing up.”

She pushes the door open anyway. My best friend and manager, the only person who’s stuck around through every bad month, leans against the frame with her arms folded. Her hair is pulled back tight, same as always.

“Today was rough,” she says. “But we’ll bounce back. We always do.”

I force a small smile. It feels like cracking glass. “Yeah. We always do.”

She walks in, drops the sales sheet on my desk without looking at it. “Today’s sales are gone. The refunds cleaned us out. But tomorrow’s a new day, right?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. Tomorrow’s a new day with no customers, no Mama Vee, no money, and a bank that’s counting down.

Mara sits on the guest chair, one leg swinging on the arm of the chair. “You know, Victoria didn’t mean it forever. She was scared. Anthony’s okay now. She’ll come back once we prove the place is safe.”

“I don't want to talk about it, Mara” She rolls her eyes and folds her hands.

“But you—”

“Let's stop talking about this already. I want to keep my word to Mama Vee and get to the bottom of the insect allergy. When was the last time you called the fumigation? We have a monthly agreement with them to fumigate the bakery. Why didn't they fumigate the bakery this month?” She doesn't answer right away.

I look at her. Really look. She’s avoiding my eyes, playing with the frayed edge of her sleeve. She didn’t say a word when Mama Vee was yelling. Not one. Not even when Paula rushed over.

“Mara,” I say quietly, “when was the last time we had the fumigators in?”

She shrugs. “Last month, I think.” My stomach twists

“You think?”

She picks at her fingernails. “We haven’t paid them yet. They said no work until we settle last month’s bill.” I look up at her, my eyebrows squished together. I lean back against my chair. 

“What do you mean we haven't paid them for last month?” I say in a controlled voice. “I gave you the money for that. Last month. I handed it to you myself.”

She meets my gaze, but it’s quick. “The flour delivery was short, so I used it to cover the extra bag. You’ll thank me later when we don’t run out mid-rush.” I press my fingers to the side of my head, rubbing my temple. I can feel a headache coming on.

“I gave you enough money for everything, and you are telling me…you cut off a crucial routine service…because of mid-rush?” I say. My voice is flat. “Well, how helpful will your unnecessary action be after what went down today?

Mara rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic. People forget. One bad day—”

“Please leave,” I cut in. “I need to be alone.”

“You can't be angry over this little mistake, Elodie”

“Now, Mara!” She rolls her eyes, puts her legs down and stands slowly, pushing the chair back so it screeches across the floor. She knows I hate that sound. She slams the door on her way out.

The headache explodes behind my eyes. I rub at my temple, but it's not helping anymore. I stand, grab painkillers from the cabinet, and swallow them dry. The water tastes metallic. I sink back into the chair and stare at the ceiling.

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My phone buzzes on the desk. Mother’s name lights the screen. I let it ring until it stops. It rings again. I take a deep breath and answer.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Elodie, we heard about Victoria. How could you be so careless?”

Always straight to blame. Never “Are you okay?” Never “How are you holding up?”

“I’m handling it,” I say.

“You'd better. I always told your grandmother that giving you the bakery was a mistake. Look what’s happened, you almost killed a child.”

I stopped listening. The words blur into the same old noise. I’m always the problem. Always the disappointment. Selena, my step-sister, gets praises, and I get lectures. I used to try so hard to earn her approval. Now I just wait for the call to end.

“Elodie, are you listening?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“We’re having a family dinner tomorrow to plan the Christmas retreat. And to discuss you.”

Of course. I’m always the topic.

“I’m handling the bakery. There’s nothing to discuss.”

“The bakery is family property, not yours. I won’t let you drag our name down.” I remain silent, gritting my teeth, my hands shaking. My reduced headache is coming back in full force.

She hangs up.

I stare at the ceiling again. My hands shake. The headache pulses harder.

I don't want to sleep here tonight. I can’t go home either. I lock the front door, turn off the lights making my choice, and crawl onto the narrow cot in the office corner. The blanket smells like sweets and dough.

I check the time. 21:40. This would have been rush hour for the bakery.

My phone glows in the dark. I open TikTok to drown everything out. 

Scroll. 

Scroll. Numbness creeps in like a close friend.

Then a video stops me cold.

The thumbnail shows a glittering Christmas tree and a banner: HART HOLIDAY BAKE-OFF. Prize money flashes in bold gold letters.

€500,000.

This Christmas.

My finger hovers over the screen. My heart slams against my ribs.

Oh my God. This cannot be real.