Page 45

Micah

T he golden leaves outside the bakery were nearly identical to the day Kit first walked in, almost a year to the day.

Inside, the scent of birthday cake and autumn leaves drifted through the space as I put the finishing touches on what had become my most requested creation: Kit's signature vanilla-honey cupcakes with cinnamon buttercream.

A year ago, I'd never have imagined I'd be baking omega-inspired desserts for half the town, but Kit's influence had expanded far beyond art classes and into every corner of Hollow Haven life.

Including my business.

"Those smell incredible," called Mrs. Patterson from the front counter, where she was picking up her weekly order of dinner rolls. "Are those for the anniversary party tonight?"

"Among other things," I said, carefully piping the last swirl of buttercream. "Kit's been very specific about wanting to keep things simple, but the rest of us might have gotten a little carried away with the planning."

Mrs. Patterson laughed, the sound warm with genuine affection.

"That girl deserves all the celebration we can give her.

Hard to believe it's only been a year since you all have enough common sense to bond with that special girl.

Now look at her. Teaching half the county to paint, organizing community events, running that art program like she was born to it. "

She wasn't wrong. Kit's beginners art class had expanded into three different skill levels, plus specialized workshops for children, seniors, and what Charlie had dubbed "the fancy art people" who drove down from Portland to attend Kit's weekend intensive sessions.

What had started as a Thursday evening class in the community center had become a regional destination for arts education.

And she still acted surprised when people called her successful.

The bell above the door chimed, and I looked up to see Jonah backing through the entrance, his arms full of something large and rectangular wrapped in brown paper.

"Please tell me that's not another surprise for tonight," I said, though I was already grinning. "Kit specifically said she didn't want a big fuss."

"This isn't a big fuss," Jonah protested, carefully maneuvering his package around the display cases. "This is a meaningful gesture."

"What's the difference?"

"About fifty dollars and significantly less glitter than Reed's contribution."

I raised an eyebrow. "Should I ask?"

"Reed commissioned Charlie to make a banner. I think it can be seen from space."

The image of Charlie with unlimited art supplies and a commission from Reed made me laugh out loud. "That poor kid. She's been planning this party for weeks like it's a state dinner."

"She wants it to be perfect for Kit," Jonah said, his voice carrying the soft fondness that meant he was thinking about how much his daughter loved our omega. "She's been working on a special surprise all week. Won't tell me what it is, just that it's 'gonna make Kit cry happy tears.'"

Happy tears. Charlie had become something of an expert on Kit's emotional responses, cataloging the different types of tears like a scientist studying precipitation patterns.

Proud tears when her students succeeded.

Overwhelmed tears when the community showed support.

Grateful tears when we did something unexpectedly thoughtful.

And happy tears, the best kind, when something touched her heart so deeply that joy simply overflowed.

"Speaking of surprises," I said, pulling a manila envelope from beneath the counter, "this arrived this morning. The return address says Portland Arts Council."

Jonah's eyebrows shot up. "That's the grant application she submitted for the rural arts education program."

Three months ago, Kit had reluctantly applied for a state grant to expand her teaching model to other small communities.

Reluctantly because she still had trouble believing her work was significant enough to merit official funding.

The application had required recommendations, detailed curriculum outlines, and a comprehensive budget that had made her anxious for weeks.

"Think it's good news or bad news?" I asked, weighing the envelope in my hands.

"With Kit's luck lately? Probably life-changing news that she'll try to downplay as 'no big deal.'"

The bakery door opened again, this time admitting Reed with his arms full of electrical cables and what appeared to be enough outdoor lighting to illuminate a small city.

"Don't ask," he said before either of us could comment. "Charlie has a very specific vision for tonight's ambiance."

"How specific are we talking?" Jonah asked warily.

"She drew diagrams. With measurements." Reed dumped his load on the counter with a resigned sigh. "Apparently our barn needs to look 'magical enough for a fairy princess, but not too fancy because Kit doesn't like fancy.'"

"That's actually pretty accurate," I said, thinking about Kit's complicated relationship with anything that felt too expensive or elaborate. Months of being made to feel guilty for her own needs had left her with reflexive discomfort around anything that seemed excessive.

Unless it was for someone else. Kit would spend hours planning the perfect surprise for Charlie or researching the ideal gift for a struggling student, but accepting similar consideration for herself still made her anxious.

"How's she doing today?" Reed asked, his tone carefully casual in the way that meant he was checking for emotional weather patterns. "This morning she seemed a little... thoughtful."

Thoughtful was Reed's diplomatic way of saying that Kit had been processing something, probably the significance of hitting the one-year anniversary of our bonding.

For someone who'd spent the first part of her life believing she didn't deserve good things, anniversaries of happiness could be emotionally complex.

"She's been in her studio since dawn," Jonah said. "Working on something she says is 'just for us' and won't let anyone see until tonight."

Just for us. Kit's most meaningful gifts were always the ones that came from her art.

Pieces that captured moments or emotions or the small details that made our family unique.

She'd painted Charlie reading in the garden, sketched Reed building something in his workshop, drawn me baking with the focused intensity that meant I was problem-solving through pastry.

Each piece was a love letter in watercolor and charcoal.

"She's also been getting mysterious phone calls," Reed added. "Something about consulting work for other communities. I caught part of a conversation about 'curriculum licensing' and 'trainer certification programs.'"

This was news to me. "She didn't mention consulting work."

"Because she probably doesn't think it's important enough to mention," Jonah said with the exasperated fondness of someone who'd spent months learning to decode Kit's self-deprecating habits.

"You know how she is. Someone could offer her a tenured position at an art college and she'd describe it as 'helping out with some classes. '"

The morning rush picked up, cutting off our speculation as the bakery filled with its usual mix of locals grabbing coffee and tourists following the scent of fresh pastries.

I fell into the familiar rhythm of customer service, but part of my attention remained focused on the envelope from the Portland Arts Council and the mystery of whatever Kit was creating in her studio.

And the phone calls about consulting work that she considered too minor to mention.

By noon, the bakery had settled into the quieter pace of early afternoon, and I found myself arranging the anniversary cupcakes in transport containers with perhaps more care than strictly necessary.

Tonight wasn't just about celebrating our first year with Kit.

It was about acknowledging how completely she'd integrated into our lives and our community.

How essential she'd become.

The door chimed again, and this time it was Kit herself, paint-stained and slightly wild-haired from whatever creative intensity had kept her occupied all morning.

"Don't look at me like that," she said immediately, catching my expression. "I know I look like I've been wrestling with art supplies."

"You look like someone who's been creating something important," I corrected, moving around the counter to kiss her hello. She tasted like coffee and possibility, with just a hint of anxiety underneath her usual vanilla-honey sweetness.

"Maybe," she said, but there was something in her eyes. Excitement mixed with nervousness that suggested whatever she'd been working on mattered to her deeply.

"Hungry?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Kit forgot to eat when she was deep in artistic focus, a habit that triggered every nurturing instinct I possessed.

"Starving, actually." She settled onto the stool behind the counter, the one I'd designated as hers months ago when it became clear she'd become a regular fixture in my afternoon routine. "And slightly overwhelmed by whatever conspiracy you three have been planning."

"What makes you think we're planning anything?"

Kit gave me a look that suggested my poker face needed work.

"Reed spent an hour this morning arranging lighting like he's preparing for a photoshoot.

Jonah keeps hiding mysterious packages. And Charlie asked me very specific questions about my favorite colors and whether I prefer surprises that are 'beautiful' or 'meaningful. '"

"For what it's worth," I said, pulling ingredients for her favorite sandwich from the refrigerator, "we tried to keep it simple. But Charlie may have influenced the scope of the celebration."

"How much influence are we talking about?"

"She's been planning this for three weeks. There are charts involved."