Updated Apr 19, 2026 • ~14 min read
Chapter 4: The Bakery Opens
Asher
Asher knows the exact moment Quinn’s bakery opens for business because Ruby wakes him up at six in the morning bouncing on his bed and shouting about how “the bakery has CUPCAKES in the window and we HAVE to go get some!” with the kind of enthusiasm that only a six-year-old experiencing a sugar-based emergency can achieve.
“Ruby, it’s Saturday,” Asher groans, pulling his pillow over his head in a futile attempt to block out both the noise and the early morning light. “We can sleep in on Saturdays.”
“But Daddy, there are CUPCAKES!” Ruby insists, and she’s tugging on his arm with surprising strength for someone so small. “I saw them when I looked out my window! Pink ones and chocolate ones and ones with sprinkles! We have to go NOW before they’re all gone!”
“We don’t need cupcakes from the new neighbor’s bakery,” Asher mutters, because the last thing he wants to do on his Saturday off is walk into the lion’s den of community surveillance that the grand opening will undoubtedly become—every resident watching to see if the single firefighter and the pretty new baker have a “moment” they can report back to Judy. “I can make you cupcakes at home.”
“Daddy, your cupcakes taste like cardboard and sadness,” Ruby says with the devastating honesty that only a six-year-old can deliver. “Quinn’s are REAL cupcakes.”
Asher knows from two years of single parenting that arguing with Ruby when she’s this determined is a losing battle—and that she’s unfortunately right about his baking skills—so he drags himself out of bed and into the shower while his daughter runs around the house getting dressed and finding her shoes (which are, miraculously, exactly where she left them) and chattering nonstop about cupcakes.
By seven AM they’re walking across the yard toward Sugar & Spice, and Asher can already see that the entire town has apparently had the same idea as Ruby because there’s a line out the door and people are milling around on the sidewalk drinking coffee from paper cups and eating pastries that smell absolutely incredible even from this distance.
“Everyone’s here!” Ruby observes with delight, waving at approximately twelve people she knows as they join the line. “Hi Mrs. Peterson! Hi Sheriff Hank! Hi Mayor Judy! We’re getting cupcakes!”
Mayor Judy catches Asher’s eye with a knowing smile that makes him deeply suspicious about whether this grand opening is genuinely well-attended or whether the entire town showed up specifically to support the new bakery and also spy on any potential interaction between Asher and Quinn.
Probably both, knowing Maplewood.
The line moves slowly—Quinn apparently serving everyone personally rather than having staff yet—and Asher entertains Ruby with a game of I Spy while trying not to notice how good the bakery looks with its fresh paint and new sign and the warm glow of lights through the windows that make it look welcoming and cozy in a way the old Sugar & Spice never quite managed.
When they finally reach the counter, Asher gets his first proper look at his new neighbor in her professional environment, and he’s struck by how different she seems from the woman who was climbing his roof three days ago—she’s wearing a white apron over jeans and a t-shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a neat braid, and she’s smiling at customers with genuine warmth that transforms her whole face into something that Asher should definitely not be noticing.
“Hi! I’m Ruby! You’re the new lady!” his daughter announces before Asher can say anything, and she’s practically vibrating with excitement while staring at the display case full of pastries like she’s witnessing a miracle.
Quinn’s smile softens when she looks at Ruby, and Asher watches something shift in her expression—the professional friendliness becoming something more genuine and sweet as she crouches down to Ruby’s level behind the counter.
“I’m Quinn,” she introduces herself, giving Ruby her full attention in a way that makes Asher’s chest do something uncomfortable. “What kind of cupcake do you want?”
Ruby presses her face against the display case, examining each cupcake with the seriousness of someone making a life-altering decision, and Asher catches Quinn’s eye over his daughter’s head.
“Sorry,” he says quietly. “She’s very excited about the cupcakes.”
“Don’t apologize,” Quinn says, and her smile when she looks at him is warmer than anything she’s directed at him before. “This is exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”
Ruby finally makes her choice—chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles, because his daughter is nothing if not consistent in her preferences—and Quinn boxes it up with care before sliding it across the counter.
“On the house,” Quinn says when Asher reaches for his wallet. “Grand opening special for my favorite neighbor.”
“I’m your only neighbor,” Ruby points out with six-year-old logic. “But thank you! This is SO PRETTY!”
She takes a bite immediately, completely unconcerned with saving it for later, and her entire face lights up with joy that makes Asher’s heart squeeze.
“Daddy, this is the best EVER!” Ruby announces through a mouthful of chocolate, and Asher makes a half-hearted attempt to remind her about manners before giving up because she’s right—the cupcake looks professional and delicious and definitely better than anything he could make at home.
“Thank you,” Asher tells Quinn, and he means it sincerely even though accepting free cupcakes feels like accepting some kind of olive branch that he’s not sure he wants to accept. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” Quinn says simply. “Ruby’s enthusiasm is the best advertising I could ask for.”
Asher should leave then—should take his daughter and her cupcake and get out of the way so Quinn can serve the line of customers still waiting—but Ruby is tugging on his arm and pointing at something behind the counter.
“Daddy, try one too! Quinn, do you have one for my Daddy?”
“Ruby, I’m sure Quinn is busy—” Asher starts, but Quinn is already reaching for one of the plain croissants in the display case.
“Try this,” she says, handing it to him with a smile that might be slightly challenging. “It’s my specialty. French technique, local butter. If you don’t like it, I’ll refund your non-existent payment.”
Asher takes the croissant because refusing would be rude, and he takes a bite while Ruby watches expectantly and Quinn pretends to be arranging pastries while obviously waiting for his reaction.
It’s good.
Better than good—it’s actually the best croissant Asher’s ever had, buttery and flaky and perfect in a way that makes him grudgingly admit that maybe Quinn knows what she’s doing with this bakery thing.
“It’s good,” Asher says, because he’s not capable of lying even when honesty might be less complicated.
“High praise from Mr. Grumpy,” Quinn responds, and there’s teasing in her voice that Asher should probably be offended by but instead finds himself almost smiling at.
“I prefer ‘discerning,'” Asher counters, and Ruby giggles because apparently watching her father engage in light banter with the pretty new neighbor is the funniest thing she’s seen all week.
“Discerning,” Quinn echoes, and her eyes are sparkling with amusement. “I’ll remember that.”
There’s a moment—brief but noticeable—where they’re just looking at each other while Ruby eats her cupcake and the line of customers waits patiently and the entire town watches with barely concealed interest, and Asher feels something shift in his chest that he absolutely cannot afford to feel.
He clears his throat and takes a step back, breaking whatever moment was happening.
“Thanks for the cupcake,” he says to Quinn, and then to Ruby, “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s let Quinn get back to work.”
“Bye Quinn!” Ruby calls as Asher steers her toward the door. “Your cupcakes are the BEST! Can I come back tomorrow?!”
“Anytime,” Quinn calls after them, and Asher can hear the smile in her voice even without looking back.
They make it outside before Ruby starts interrogating him.
“Daddy, Quinn is SO NICE!” she announces, chocolate frosting smeared across her face. “And her cupcakes are amazing! Can we go back every day?”
“We’ll see,” Asher says non-committally, because promising daily bakery visits feels like encouraging a level of neighborly interaction he’s determined to avoid.
“I like her,” Ruby continues, oblivious to Asher’s internal conflict. “She’s pretty and nice and makes good cupcakes. Do you like her, Daddy?”
“She seems fine,” Asher says carefully, because he’s learned that Ruby has a tendency to repeat everything he says to literally everyone she meets, and the last thing he needs is his daughter announcing to the entire town that Daddy thinks the new neighbor is more than just “fine.”
“Just fine?” Ruby asks skeptically, and she’s giving him a look that’s far too knowing for a six-year-old. “Emma at school says when grown-ups say ‘fine’ they actually mean they like someone but don’t want to say it.”
“Emma at school is six years old and doesn’t know everything about grown-ups,” Asher says, steering Ruby toward home and trying to ignore the way his daughter is watching him with the same expression Emma used to get when she knew he was dodging a question.
Cole is waiting on Asher’s front porch when they get home—apparently having let himself in through the back door that Asher never locks—and he’s drinking coffee and looking extremely pleased with himself in a way that suggests he’s already heard about the bakery visit.
“How were the cupcakes?” Cole asks innocently, and Asher glares at him while Ruby runs inside to wash the chocolate off her face.
“Don’t start,” Asher warns.
“I didn’t say anything,” Cole protests. “I just asked about the cupcakes. Very innocent question.”
“The cupcakes were fine. The bakery is fine. Quinn is fine. Everything is fine and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Lot of ‘fine’ happening,” Cole observes. “Usually when you say something is ‘fine’ that many times, it means you’re actively trying not to think about it.”
“I hate you,” Asher informs him, collapsing into one of the porch chairs and accepting the coffee Cole hands him because despite being an annoying best friend, Cole knows how Asher takes his coffee and has the decency to bring it pre-made.
“You like her,” Cole says cheerfully. “I can tell. You’ve got that look.”
“I don’t have a look,” Asher denies. “And I don’t like her. I barely know her.”
“You caught her when she fell off a ladder,” Cole points out. “That’s very romantic. Very meet-cute.”
“That’s very ‘preventing a hospital visit,'” Asher corrects. “Nothing romantic about it.”
“If you say so,” Cole says, but he’s grinning in a way that suggests he doesn’t believe Asher for a second. “Though Ruby seems pretty charmed by her.”
“Ruby’s six and easily impressed by anyone who gives her sugar,” Asher says, but even as he says it he knows it’s not entirely true—Ruby is actually quite discerning about which adults she likes, and the fact that she’s already decided Quinn is “the best” is actually significant.
“You know what the town’s going to do, right?” Cole asks, getting serious for a moment. “They’re going to meddle. Hard. Judy’s already planning schemes, I guarantee it.”
“I know,” Asher sighs, because he’s lived in Maplewood long enough to understand how the town operates when they decide two people should be together. “I’ll handle it.”
“By being aggressively unfriendly and hoping Quinn gets the hint that you’re not interested?” Cole asks. “Because that’s been working so well with all of Judy’s other matchmaking attempts.”
“I wasn’t unfriendly in the bakery,” Asher protests. “I was perfectly civil.”
“You almost smiled,” Cole says like this is a shocking revelation. “I heard about it from three different sources already. Apparently you and Quinn had ‘a moment.'”
“We did not have a moment,” Asher insists, but he can feel heat creeping up the back of his neck because maybe they did have something resembling a moment, and he hates that the entire town apparently witnessed it.
Ruby emerges then, her face clean and her enthusiasm undiminished.
“Uncle Cole! Did you try Quinn’s cupcakes? They’re the BEST!”
“Not yet, kiddo,” Cole says, pulling Ruby into a hug. “But I will definitely go try them based on your expert recommendation.”
“You should!” Ruby says seriously. “And you should tell Daddy to stop being grumpy and be nice to Quinn because she’s really nice and I like her.”
“Traitor,” Asher mutters, but Ruby just giggles and runs off to play in the backyard, leaving Asher alone with Cole and his knowing looks.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Cole says sagely. “Even Ruby thinks you should be nicer to Quinn.”
“Ruby thinks everyone should be friends with everyone,” Asher points out. “She’s six and inherently optimistic about human nature.”
“Maybe you should take a lesson from her,” Cole suggests. “Being friendly with your neighbor doesn’t mean you have to date her. But being actively grumpy just makes your life harder.”
Asher knows Cole is right—knows that fighting the town’s matchmaking attempts by being aggressively distant is probably just going to make them try harder—but the alternative is being friendly with Quinn, and being friendly leads to conversations, and conversations lead to connection, and connection leads to feelings he’s absolutely not equipped to handle.
“I’ll think about it,” Asher says finally, which is the closest he can come to admitting that maybe, possibly, he might need to adjust his approach.
“That’s all I ask,” Cole says, standing and clapping Asher on the shoulder. “Now I’m going to go get cupcakes and report back on whether Ruby’s assessment is accurate.”
“Traitor,” Asher calls after him, but Cole just waves and heads toward Sugar & Spice, leaving Asher alone with his coffee and his thoughts and the uncomfortable awareness that he did almost smile at Quinn Mitchell, and that maybe, just maybe, his daughter is right about him needing to be nicer to their new neighbor.
Ruby spends the rest of the day talking about the bakery—about how pretty it is, how nice Quinn was, how they should definitely go back tomorrow and the next day and maybe every day forever—and Asher listens while making lunch and supervising playtime and trying very hard not to think about brown eyes and warm smiles and the way Quinn looked at Ruby with genuine fondness.
That night, after Ruby is asleep and Asher is alone with his thoughts and a beer on the back porch, he finds himself looking at the lights in Quinn’s house and wondering what she’s doing, if the grand opening went well, if she’s unpacking or baking or planning for tomorrow.
His phone buzzes with a text from Cole: “Ruby’s right. Best cupcakes ever. You’re doomed.”
“I’m not doomed,” Asher types back. “I’m fine.”
“Sure,” Cole responds. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Asher throws his phone on the porch table and takes a long drink of his beer, watching the lights in Quinn’s windows and trying to convince himself that he’s fine, that being neighbors is all they’ll ever be, that his daughter’s enthusiasm for the pretty baker next door doesn’t mean anything significant.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, in the part of him that noticed how Quinn smiled at Ruby and challenged him with that croissant and made his almost-smile feel dangerously close to a real one, Asher knows that Cole might be right.
He might be doomed after all.
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