Page 16 of The Autumn Leaf Bookshop (Everly Hollow #1)

Sweet Potato Hand Pies

Raene

S unday evening texts…

Me: So, where are we plotting autumn world domination from?

Ash: That depends. Do you prefer coffee, pastries, or people watching?

Me: All three. But if I had to choose, coffee wins. You host at the bookshop, I’ll surprise you with food and drinks?

Ash: If you’re bringing those indecent little noises you made over pizza last time. Then yes, definitely, bring food.

Me: First of all, rude, but I won’t kink shame. Second of all… they were delicious noises. The pizza was indeed magical.

Ash: Told you. Magic pizza. Okay, bookshop tomorrow, late morning. Monday’s are pretty slow.

Me: Okay, see you.

I hit the button on the blender, sending it to a roaring echo around the kitchen.

Grandma is being picked up by Flora for physical therapy.

I’m heading to get coffee and treats, which will be the main highlight of my day.

At least, before meeting Ash, who is at his bookshop for more Fall Festival planning.

It’s not that I didn’t like spending time with Ash. I did enjoy being around him. He’s too beautiful not to look at. And as for the new nickname I gave him? Ash just felt right. Sy just sounded too weird.

I love planning. It’s a fun project to do while I’m not writing and trying to enjoy a five-week break, but I didn’t envision myself doing this.

Grandma was so excited when I came home after the town hall meeting, and I told her, with gritted teeth and a too-bright smile, that I would help with the festival planning.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you to your appointment?” I ask as she shuffles into the kitchen with her walker.

I pour us each a glass of the strawberry mango smoothie, insert a straw, and set her glass on the table. Taking a careful seat, she waves me off, reaching for the glass and takes a slow sip.

“I’ll be okay. You have your plans. I appreciate what you’re doing.”

“Did I really have a choice?” I lift my glass, stirring it lazily with the straw before taking a sip. The sweet-tart flavor is delicious and refreshing. There’s no bite in my tone, just an edge of honest curiosity .

She chuckles. “You had choices. You just made the one that made your grandma happy.”

Her eyes sparkle in delight, and I know from the look on her face, she’s proud.

There is pride in her voice. Ash was right.

I didn’t want to let the town down. I didn’t want to let my grandmother down.

I wanted my presence here not to bring stress, and if this is what she needs help with during her recovery, then so be it.

I am here to help. No matter how much I dislike the season.

She needs me, and along with a few of her friends here, she’s counting on me.

Grandma takes another sip of her smoothie, then sets the glass down with a soft clink on the table top. Her eyes flick to the chair across from her. “Sit with me for a minute, baby. We have time.”

I make my way to the table, take a seat, and hold the glass in my hands as her hands stay folded on the table in front of her.

“I know this Fall Festival wasn’t what you had planned,” she says, her voice gentle. “But you’re helping the town, you’re helping someone in need, making new friends…”

She gives me a look, and I arch an eyebrow at her. “And most importantly, you’re helping me. That means more than I can say. I didn’t want to tell them I couldn’t do it when this sprung up on me.” She gestures toward her hip.

I look down at my drink. “I said yes because I love you. I didn’t want you disappointed in me, or stressed.”

“I know, sweetie, but I wouldn’t be disappointed, mad, or stressed.” She reaches across the table and lays her hand over mine. Her skin is soft and warm as she gives my hand a tight squeeze. “I know fall’s not your favorite. Hasn’t been for a long time. ”

My heart tightens. I don't say anything. The silence in the air is thick, heavy.

“I don’t mean to push,” she says. “But maybe…maybe helping bring a little joy to this season could help you take some of it back as well.” Her head tilts in anticipation of my response.

I nod slowly, giving her hand a soft squeeze in return. Her smile returns, small and sweet. “Besides, no one can rock a flannel like a boss and carry a clipboard with a checklist like a Hart girl.”

That gets a laugh out of me, even past the lump in my throat. “I’ll see you later,” I say before gulping down the rest of my smoothie, rinsing out the glass in the sink. “I need to make a few stops before I go to the bookshop.”

“Well, have fun. Flora will be here in a minute.” She relaxes into her seat. “I’m excited to see what you two come up with.”

I smile back. My nerves are buzzing. Let the day begin.

“Do you want any pastries to go with your drinks?” Jas asks, sliding a cinnamon-roll latte into the sturdy cardboard carrier beside the PSL she’s already labeled for Ash.

“Actually…” I tap my card on the reader, watching the screen flash green. “I’m going to hit up one of the bakeries. Try something new.”

Jas cocks her head. “Which one?”

I hesitate. “Umm…I’m not sure yet. ”

She grins, leaning in like she’s about to share a town secret. “Choose wisely. And try not to get caught.”

My brows pinch together. What does she mean? Caught.

“Caught?”

“Oh yeah.” She laughs. “Poppy and Garruk? Those two are in a never-ending battle of baked goods.”

She begins to count off her fingers. “Cinnamon rolls vs. cookies, croissants vs. pies, it’s a serious feud. I carry both in the café to keep the peace. But if you go to one and skip the other,” she says, crossing her arms and smiling, “it’s like picking a side in a cake-battered war.”

I chew on my lip. “So what do I do?”

“Play it safe. Stop by both. They each run a daily special, and it's totally worth it. Just…avoid eye contact if they ask whose you liked better. Trust me. It’s safer that way.” She nods her head.

“Thanks for the warning and the coffee.” I grin, grab the carrier, and head to the door. Mentally preparing myself for my next mission, or the battle of the pastries.

I step inside The Stone Hearth Bakery, the soft thrum of low rock music buzzing gently through the speakers. The smell of freshly baked bread dances in the air along with a sugary scent. Together, the two are a tantalizing concoction .

A few tables hold guests. Some read a newspaper, a book, or scroll through their phones. A small coven of older women giggle and laugh at some shared secret, as they nibble on their pastries.

I make my way to the long glass display case, my eyes hooked on the delectable, baked treats in the display. Garruk walks out of the back in his apron, barely able to cover the large expanse of his chest.

"Welcome, Raene!" he beams, holding a tray of muffins with a streusel topping that looks delicious. His smile stretches wide, tusk to tusk, all pride and warmth.

News travels fast.

"Hello, Garruk," I say, giving him a small wave with my free hand. "I just wanted to pop in and see what your special is for today."

"Well, I’ve got two today," he says, holding up one of the muffins before gently nestling it into the display case. "Spiced carrot with golden raisins and a spiced streusel topping, or apple cider crullers, fresh from the fryer with a dusting of cinnamon sugar glaze on them."

Decisions. Decisions. Since Ash is a total slut for anything fall-flavored, he can have the donut.

"I'll take one of each."

“Good choice.” He grabs his tongs, picks up a donut, and slides the donut into a small, crisp white paper sleeve before placing it gently into a small brown box.

He carefully sets the muffin in parchment, before placing that into the box.

He ties it off with twine and adds a circular sticker of the bakery name with a logo of a cartoon orc gleefully devouring a pastry.

"Thanks so much, they look amazing," I say, tapping my card to pay.

"Best baked goods in town." He winks. "Don’t be a stranger!"

I walk out, turn about ten paces to the right, and I’m at my next stop.

The little bell above the door jingles as I step inside The Sugarplum Bakery.

The warm scent of vanilla, sugar, and something sweet, tinged with something else I can’t put my finger on, smells amazing.

Someone could probably catch a sugar high just breathing between here and Stone Hearth without a single granule on your tongue.

The walls are painted a soft blush pink, with one accent wall behind the counter in lavender. Rows of pastel cake stands in robin’s egg blue, lemon yellow, powder pink, and lilac line the counters, each one showing off frosted treats too pretty to eat.

Behind the counter, Penelope finishes checking out a customer. They thank her and walk out with two large pink boxes stacked in their arms.

“Well, if it isn’t our newest little Autumn conspirator,” she says, grinning as she wipes her hands on a pink and white tea towel. “I’m so excited to see you again, Raene!”

“You too, Penelope.” I smile warmly .

“Please, call me Poppy .” She dusts a bit of flour off her deep blue apron before she eyes the box tucked under my arm.

“Judging by that suspiciously familiar brown box wrapped with twine,” she teases, “you’ve already been by Stone Hearth.”

I press my lips together, not quite guilty but definitely caught. “I couldn’t help myself.” I shrug. “The spiced carrot muffins looked like an experience.”

“Well,” she says, with a wink, flipping open the curved glass display, “you’re about to meet my special of the day.” She plucks one from the tray, breaks it in half with her hands, and offers me a piece.

I graciously accept.

“Sweet Potato Hand Pies. Fresh from the oven with a flaky, golden crust. A cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar sweet potato filling. I even added decorative sugar on top because I believe dessert should sparkle. Oh, and a dash of magic.” She takes a bite and closes her eyes, savoring the taste of the creation she made by hand and baked.

It tastes like perfection and sin, because these may be my new weaknesses. I eat the half she has given me in a few more bites. They taste like… home. Like my Mom’s sweet potato…I shake myself loose from the memory.

“I’ll take four,” I say. “I think my grandmother would love to have these as a dessert later.”

Poppy clutches her chest, her amber eyes shining brightly, like I just handed her a James Beard award. “A girl after my own heart. ”

She places a sheet of light blue parchment into a lavender box and gently nestles the four hand pies inside, then closes the lid with a routine flick.

With a small wave of her fingers and a few soft words, a deep purple satin ribbon shimmers into existence and ties itself into a perfect bow around the box. A large square sticker blooms beneath it, proudly stamped with The Sugarplum Bakery in swirly script.

“That’s incredible!” I say, reaching into my purse to pay. “Thank you so much.”

Her cheeks bloom a soft pink at the compliment. “You’re most welcome.”

She gently tucks both bakery boxes into a large brown paper bag. “Easier carrying and hey, let’s plan a girl’s night soon, yeah? I think we’d have a blast.”

“I’d actually love that.” I shake my head in agreement, returning her broad smile.

As I turn to leave, she grabs her chalk and follows me out, the bakery door swinging open behind us.

She kneels on the sidewalk and adds Sweet Potato Hand Pies—TODAY’S SPECIAL in a curly script to her pastel pink chalkboard.

She even draws a cute little hand pie below it. Her ponytail sways with each stroke.

“Ohhh?” A deep voice carries across the sidewalk.

I look over, standing next to Poppy as she finishes her drawing. Garruk strolls out of his shop, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it over his shoulder. His tusks glint in the sunlight .

“Didn’t know you had time to visit both bakeries today,” he says loudly, arms folding over his broad chest. “Thought you already made your pick.”

Before I can even speak, Poppy doesn’t miss a beat. She stands up slowly and turns around, arms folded. “She saved the best for last, Garbear .”

She gives him a saccharine-sweet smile, tucking wisps of hair behind her ear. The way she said that nickname sarcastically makes it sound like a hex.

“You wish you were the best,” he fires back, lips twitching with amusement. “If those hand pies were any flakier, they’d ghost you after a first date.”

“Ha!” She places her hands on her hips. “That’s rich coming from someone whose cookies once had the consistency of a hockey puck,” she says, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder.

“I’m sure the children with a loose tooth or two would love to nibble on them.

Maybe strike a deal with the Tooth Fairy? Maybe a few dogs?”

Garruk just grunts. His mouth turns into a frown, as he walks back inside, shaking his head and mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

Poppy beams, brushing chalk dust from her fingers. “Ignore him,” she says sweetly. “He knows I win every time.”

Shaking my head, I try not to laugh while holding the bag of baked goods in one hand and the coffee carrier in the other. I make my way toward the bookshop. This town is sweet with some spice, and I’m here for it.