The Sweet Spot

3

It was just past noon, and the bakery was quiet again. The early rush of regulars had died down, and the scent of fresh bread and pastries still lingered in the air. I leaned against the counter, wiping my hands on my apron, feeling the familiar pang of exhaustion settling into my bones. Most days, I felt like I was running on empty—between baking, running the business, and taking care of Elliot, I didn't have much left for myself.

The past week had been particularly hard. Business had slowed down to a crawl, and I was starting to worry about making ends meet. I stared at the cash register, my heart sinking as I thought about the bills piling up back home. Rent for the bakery, rent for the apartment, electricity, flour orders, baking supplies... it never ended.

I couldn't even remember the last time I had a full night's sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I would start to worry about how I was going to keep Sweet Dreams afloat. I loved this bakery, but love didn't pay the bills.

With a sigh, I grabbed the stack of bills from under the counter. They were sitting there, a constant reminder of how things were slipping through my fingers. I thumbed through them, feeling a tight knot form in my stomach. More overdue notices, more late fees. I was behind on almost everything.

I couldn't let the bakery go under. This place wasn't just my dream—it was my livelihood, my escape, and the future I was trying to build for Elliot. He deserved stability, a home, a place where he felt safe. I couldn't let him down.

"Mommy?"

I looked up to see Elliot standing in the doorway to the back room, clutching his favorite stuffed dinosaur, Rexy, and looking up at me with those big brown eyes. His hair was a wild mess from playing, and there was a smudge of flour on his cheek. Despite the stress and worry gnawing at me, I smiled.

"Hey, buddy. What's up?"

"I'm hungry," he said, rubbing his belly for emphasis. "Can I have a sandwich?"

"Of course, sweetheart." I ruffled his hair as I walked past him into the small kitchen at the back of the bakery. "What kind do you want?"

"Peanut butter and jelly!" he exclaimed, grinning up at me.

I laughed. "Peanut butter and jelly it is."

As I made his sandwich, my mind wandered back to Oliver Steele and his sudden appearances at the bakery. His critiques still stung, but there was something more that bothered me. Why was he coming back? What did he want? It wasn't like I asked for his advice, and yet here he was, day after day, giving it to me as if he were some kind of baking oracle.

And then there was the nickname—Little Rabbit. I still didn't know what to make of that. Was it supposed to be some kind of insult? A term of endearment? I had no clue, but it stuck in my head like a catchy song you can't get rid of.

"Here you go, buddy," I said, handing Elliot his sandwich. He took it with a big smile and plopped down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen.

As I watched him eat, my heart ached with a mixture of love and guilt. Elliot was growing up so fast, and I felt like I was missing so much of it because I was constantly stressed about the bakery. He deserved more than this—a mom who wasn't always worried, a home where he didn't have to overhear conversations about overdue bills.

I sat down across from him, resting my head in my hands. "You know, Elliot, sometimes Mommy gets a little tired."

He looked up at me with a concerned expression, his sandwich paused halfway to his mouth. "Are you okay, Mommy?"

I smiled at him, trying to push the heaviness from my heart. "I'm okay, buddy. Just a little tired, that's all."

He set his sandwich down and came over to my side of the table, wrapping his small arms around me. "I love you, Mommy."

Tears stung at my eyes, but I blinked them away, hugging him back. "I love you too, more than anything in the world."

I pulled away and ruffled his hair again. "Now, finish your sandwich, okay? We've got a busy afternoon ahead."

He nodded and returned to his sandwich, leaving me alone with my thoughts again.

That afternoon dragged on slowly, the sound of the ticking clock in the bakery reminding me how few customers were coming in. I stood behind the counter, absentmindedly arranging cookies on a platter, my thoughts swirling with worry.

A few hours later, I found myself standing in front of the bakery's large glass windows, staring out at the quiet streets of Willow Creek. The town was charming in its own way, but it was small. Not much foot traffic came through, and it was becoming painfully clear that I needed more customers if I wanted Sweet Dreams to survive.

I watched as a group of kids walked past, laughing and talking, completely oblivious to the struggle happening inside my little bakery.

Just then, the door opened, and a middle-aged man I recognized as Mr. Hanson, the owner of the general store across the street, walked in. He was one of my few loyal customers who came in regularly for his afternoon coffee and cinnamon bun. I greeted him with a smile as he approached the counter.

"Afternoon, Charlotte," he said with a friendly nod. "How's business today?"

"Slow, as usual," I admitted, forcing a smile. "How's the general store?"

"Oh, you know, same old, same old. But don't worry, things'll pick up for you soon enough. Just gotta hang in there."

"Thanks," I said, though I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep hanging in there.

After serving Mr. Hanson his usual order, I leaned against the counter, watching as he sat by the window with his newspaper. He always brought a calm energy with him, and for a moment, it eased the tension in my shoulders.

But as the afternoon passed, my thoughts circled back to the same thing—how was I going to keep this place afloat?

By the time evening rolled around, I was utterly drained. I locked up the bakery, turning the sign to "Closed," and made my way upstairs to the small apartment where Elliot and I lived. It wasn't much, but it was home—for now. I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that if I didn't figure something out soon, we might not have this place for much longer.

Once Elliot was tucked into bed, his little face peaceful as he drifted off to sleep, I sat down at the kitchen table with a notebook, determined to come up with a plan. I needed to boost business, bring in more customers, and find a way to make Sweet Dreams stand out in a town where nothing ever seemed to change.

But no matter how many ideas I scribbled down, none of them seemed like enough. My brain felt foggy from the exhaustion, and the weight of everything was pressing down on me harder than ever.

I dropped the pen onto the table with a frustrated sigh, leaning back in my chair. Maybe Oliver was right. Maybe my bakery wasn't good enough. Maybe my recipes were too simple, too... mediocre.

No. I couldn't think like that. I had worked too hard to get here, and I wasn't going to let one grumpy chef's opinion tear me down. But still, his words lingered in my mind. I wasn't sure if it was his expertise or just the fact that he seemed to care enough to come back every day, but I couldn't ignore the fact that his criticism had struck a chord.

I looked around the apartment, my eyes falling on the small pile of Elliot's toys in the corner. This was all for him. Everything I did, every long hour, every sleepless night—it was for him.

I had to make this work. Somehow.

I stood up from the table, determination flaring in my chest. Tomorrow, I'd try something new. Maybe I'd tweak the recipes, or maybe I'd come up with a new special to draw people in. I wasn't giving up on Sweet Dreams. Not yet.

As I crawled into bed, the weight of the day still heavy on my shoulders, I couldn't help but think about Oliver Steele once more. He was a puzzle, a frustrating, grumpy puzzle that I wasn't sure I wanted to solve. But if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that he wasn't going to stop coming back until I proved to him—and to myself—that I was more than just a "Little Rabbit."

Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, I'd fight for this bakery.

And maybe, just maybe, I'd show Oliver Steele that he didn't know everything after all.