Page 1 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
Chapter One
Paige
The bell over the door jingles as I step inside. The smell hits me first—dust, faintly sweet, like the ghost of cinnamon rolls long gone.
The shop is small but bright, sunlight pouring through the big front windows and pooling on the scuffed hardwood floors. My real estate agent, Kelly, is already talking about square footage and zoning permits, but my gaze is fixed on the counter along the left wall.
I can already picture it gleaming, lined with cake stands and trays of fresh pastries, the air rich with coffee and sugar. Mypulse thuds with something halfway between nerves and giddy excitement.
My degree from Vanderbilt is in a new, gleaming frame, not yet hung on the wall. But I’m ready, ready to turn all those business classes, late-night study sessions, and carefully planned spreadsheets into something real. Something mine.
Kelly’s voice softens, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You like it, don’t you?” she asks, as if my wide grin and the way I keep spinning in slow circles aren’t answer enough.
I nod, tucking a strand of my dark brown hair behind my ear. “I love it. I can see it already.”
The bakery I’ve been dreaming of since I was a kid. Except back then, it had felt like an impossible, someday thing. Now, standing in this dusty little storefront in the heart of Paducah, someday feels a lot like today.
“What happened to the previous owners?” I ask, running my fingers over the edge of the counter, remembering the sweet couple who used to own the place when I was a kid.
Kelly’s smile turns a little wistful. “They were older. Harold passed away about two years ago, and Marlene moved to live with her daughter in Louisville not long after.”
I nod slowly, my chest tightening in a way I don’t expect. Though Vanderbilt was only over in Tennessee, practically next door toKentucky, I’d come home less and less. Standing here now, in the empty shop I used to love as a kid, I regret that.
Back then, it was called Marlene’s Sweet Spot. The bell above the door was the same one I just heard, and the air was always warm with the smell of sugar and cinnamon. I’d press my nose to the glass cases and point at whatever was covered in the most frosting. Sometimes Harold would slip me an extra cookie “for the road,” with a wink like it was our secret.
This place is the reason I wanted to become a baker in the first place.
I had a plan after graduation. Work for someone else for a few years, get my feet wet, learn the ropes before risking my own business. But the moment I came home and saw the “For Lease” sign in the window of the place I used to love as a kid, all those carefully crafted plans unraveled.
It feels like a sign. And I’ve never been one to ignore a sign.
Kelly flips open the folder in her hands and starts pointing things out. “It’s twelve hundred square feet, and the kitchen space in the back is already plumbed for a triple sink and has hookups for ovens. You’d probably need to update the electrical, but it’s a good starting point.”
I drift toward the doorway to the back, picturing stainless steel worktables gleaming under bright lights, trays of croissants cooling, the quiet hum of mixers at work. The faint smell of cinnamon in the air is too easy to imagine.
“The display windows could use some work,” Kelly continues. “Glass is fine, but the frames are old. You’d want to repaint at least, maybe replace.”
I glance back at the big front windows, the sunlight spilling across the floor like it’s auditioning to be in a photograph. “I could have little café tables along here,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. “Just two or three, so people could sit with coffee and something sweet.”
Kelly’s lips quirk. “And a chalkboard sign out front. Daily specials. I can already see it.”
“Exactly.” I grin, excitement curling warm in my chest. “And shelves behind the counter with jars of cookies. Cupcakes on display stands. Maybe a case of mini cheesecakes…”
She laughs. “You’ve thought this through.”
I shrug, though my cheeks heat. “For about the last fifteen years, yeah.”
Kelly flips another page in her folder. “The rent’s reasonable for downtown, and the landlord is flexible. He’s been trying to find a tenant who will really make use of the space. It’s been empty too long.”
My gaze sweeps the room again. Empty, yes—but full in my mind with everything I’ve been dreaming about since I was a little girl, nose pressed to the glass.
“Is there space in the front for tables and chairs outside?” I ask, glancing toward the door and the stretch of sidewalk beyond it. The brewery pub next door has a pretty sizable outdoor seating area, fenced off from the sidewalk.
I wonder how much I can get away with.
Kelly tilts her head, considering. “A couple, maybe three small ones. You’d have to keep the walkway clear, but yes—there’s enough space to make it cozy without blocking foot traffic.”
A little less than I wanted, but I can make do with three tables.
