Myra
Friday passed in a blur of flour and adrenaline. With Bentley taking up residence at his A-frame on the ridge and Martha the clerk undoubtedly spreading the word that a "city lawyer” had arrived to defend Myra Higgins and the Kent family, the atmosphere in the bakery shifted. The whispers didn't stop, but they changed pitch. They were no longer the sneering murmurs of judgment; they were the hushed, urgent tones of people realizing the power dynamic in town had just been upended.
By Saturday morning, the bakery was operating on autopilot. Tony, Leo,MacKenzie and I moved in a silent, synchronized dance. We had to front-load the baking because the "Special Meeting" was scheduled for two o'clock at the Town Hall.
"You're shaking," Tony said quietly, stepping close to me as I tried to
