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Maggie found herself in need of another shower when her phone alarm reminded her of the meeting that night. Great—one more project to pull her focus. Something had to give. She couldn’t take this all on and survive it, surely.

More than dirt stained her clothes and spirit. Exhaustion threatened to release all the emotions poking at her heart, making it ache.

After rinsing off again, she grabbed some half-worn jeans out of her clothes hamper and found a pale blue tank she topped with a jean button-down. It was a weak fashion effort, but it would have to do. This wasn’t the city, and her audience weren’t guys like Patrick York.

Maggie headed into Mae’s for fortification before the meeting.

“Hey, Mae,” she called out when the front counter was empty. “It’s Maggie.”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the bell.” Mae came out from the back, covered in flour and her hair somehow matted and frayed at the same time. She gave Maggie a wane smile. “What can I do for you, dear?”

“How are you, Mae? You look exhausted.”

The poor woman’s bottom lip quivered. “I’ll be fine. This wedding, though. The bride is—well, I don’t want to speak poorly about her, but she’s become rather difficult.”

Maggie put her hands on her hips. “Okay, Mae. I don’t want to overstep, but I’d like to order two of your famous lattes—one for each of us. And I’d love for you to take a ten-minute break and drink yours with me.”

“What a sweet gesture, Margaret. Thank you.” Mae looked like she might crack wide open, and Maggie guessed nothing but stress and sugar would come out. “I could use some coffee and a spell where I can give my feet a rest.”

“Me, too. Let’s sit out here in case anyone comes in.”

A few minutes later, Mae sat across from Maggie, her coffee mug trembling in her hands.

“I don’t know what we did, taking on an event of this magnitude. It’s… it’s too much, Margaret. Grace might be able to handle the pressure, but I don’t know if I can.”

Maggie’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “It may not seem like it, but I feel that way every day I wake up at my dad’s ranch. I love the work, but I question my ability to get it all done and not mess it up along the way.”

A tear slipped down Mae’s cheek, and she swiped at it. “That’s precisely how I feel. I love to bake, but this wedding is taking the fun out of it. The money’s good—very good, in fact—but I’m not sure it’s worth it anymore.”

Maggie took Mae’s free hand in hers. “I understand completely. What can you do to lighten the load? Can you take time off from the rest of the store maintenance? Shut down till after the wedding? It’s only a couple days from now.”

“Hmmm. That’s not a bad idea. I’ll consider that. What do you do to get through the days you don’t think you can do it?”

Maggie smiled. “I think of my dad. Or rather something he once told me.”

“What’s that, dear?”

“That I can do hard, brave things. Then he’d tell me to close my eyes,” Maggie bit back a smile when Mae took that as an order and obeyed. “And to picture my life when the hard stuff was done. What did it look like? How did I feel? Proud? Accomplished? Strong enough to lift a building?”

Mae smiled for the first time since Maggie had arrived. Her eyes stayed shut. “I’d feel tired but like I earned a vacation.”

“Where would you go?” Maggie asked.

“To see my daughter in Oregon. She lives on the coast, and I always loved the sound of the water crashing on the rocks up there. And the clam chowder is enough to make a woman believe in love again.” She opened her eyes.

“Then make the plans tonight. You’ll have the money to hire help to cover the store or shut it for a couple weeks. More than that, life is too short not to do the stuff that makes you smile like you are when thinking about the coast.”

“Thank you, Margaret. You are such a wonderful girl, and I know your father would be so proud of the woman you’ve become. Not just on your own, but for the town. We’re better with you here.”

Maggie’s chest expanded until she worried it would crack. Tears came before she could even think to stop them. “Thank you, Mae.”

“What can I get you to thank you? Anything in the case.”

“Normally I’d protest, but I’ve got a date with the whole town, so maybe one of those vanilla tarts to go, if it’s not too much trouble—”

“Not another word. It’s yours. Thank you, Margaret.”

Maggie walked out of the bakery with a tart and sense of purpose. Staying here wasn’t the worst thing in the world and like she’d told Mae, the hard days would be worth it.