Undercover billionaire and the bakery bandit

The yeasty smell of fresh-baked bread wafted through the small bakery, comforting and warm, promising fairer days ahead. Addie Parker was behind the counter, hands dusted with flour as her eyes hastily scanned tables sprinkled throughout the small shop. The morning rush was over, but it hadn't been much of a rush in a very long time-just the same few loyal customers who trickled in, keeping the lights on but not much more.

She wiped the back of her hand across her brow, an ache in her arms from having kneaded dough since morning. Months of slow business had taken a heavy lead weight to her chest every day with the weight of the financial troubles the bakery had fallen upon. Bills piled up, overdue rent, the threat of closure looming above her head like a dark cloud.

The bell above the door jingled, and Addie set the tray of cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven on the counter. She looked up with a hopeful smile, and let it falter at the sight of Mrs. Jenkins from down the street.

Morning, dear," Mrs. Jenkins said in a near-soft, full-of-pity voice. She sashayed on toward the counter, saying in nearinaudible tones, as if perhaps for a secret, "You're still holding on, I see."

Addie forced a smile, wrestling it onto her face, while inside her stomach was performing its usual acrobatics. "Just doing what I can," she said, light and detached from the truth.

Mrs. Jenkins nodded slowly, her crinkled hands clutching at her purse. "You know, there's no shame in letting go. Sometimes, it's just too much. This place has been in your family for generations, sure, but you don't want it to be your burden, does it?

Addie swallowed hard, her eyes afire with the sudden sting of imminent tears. She knew Mrs. Jenkins was just being nice, but it sounded like another push toward the inevitable-selling the bakery.

"Thanks, Mrs. Jenkins," Addie said softly, "but I'm not giving up just yet."

The older woman blew a heavy sigh before giving her a pity smile. "Well, I'll take two loaves of sourdough and them cinnamon rolls. Best in town, after all."

Addie nodded quickly as she wrapped the order. As she was handing her the bag, Mrs. Jenkins turned with a soft "Take care, dear," and disappeared out the door.

She was barely out the door when the smile fell from her face. She let her gaze stray to the framed photograph on the wall-the matriarch of her family, the woman who had started this bakery almost forty years ago.

Nonna," Addie said aloud to herself, running her finger along the edge of the counter. "What would you do?

It was the memory of her grandmother, alive today just as she had been every day when breathing. Nonna bustled around this bakery, hands moving swiftly through dough, her voice a song mixed with laughter. She loved this place, heart and soul in every loaf and pastry. It wasn't just a business; it was part of her. Now it was Addie's.

She went to the window and stared out at the street beyond now, lined with hip cafés and gaudy new restaurants siphoning off her customers. Little longer very competitive against this glitter was the little bakery that long had been pride of the neighborhood.

Addie exhaled on the glass so that it fogged up. How ever was it to come to this?

"Maybe Mrs. Jenkins does have a point," she stuttered, "Maybe I am stubborn.

Part of her once or twice had actually considered selling the bakery-the offers were there-mostly nothing to brag about but enough to pay off her debts and place her in a good position for a new beginning. Yet every time that would come to her head, and she could easily walk away, it was her grandmother who kept her from doing such. It was still ringing in her head when Nonna said, "*This bakery is our legacy, Addie. It's more than a business. It's our heart, our family.*"

Addie fisted her hands. Whose would let go of something that meant so much to the family? She did not want some random stranger just waltzing in, making her grandmother's bakery into some dead-inside café.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from her reverie. A glance at the screen showed it was a text from Emma, her best friend.

**Emma:*How's morning? Don't forget, you promised dinner tonight!***

Addie blew a sigh, her fingers poised over the screen as she jabbed out a quick reply.

**Addie:*It's quiet. Might close up early. I'll be there.*

She jammed the phone back into her apron pocket, turning her attention back inside the bakery. The empty chairs, the silent ovens-it was just so. empty.

It was then that the bell above the door jingled once more. Addie straightened hopefully this time, to see it was her landlord, Mr. Larkin.

"Afternoon, Miss Parker," he grated without any preliminary courtesy. Hard eyes glanced about the empty shop. "We need to talk about the rent.

Addie's heart sank. "I know," she replied, hastily wiping her hands on her apron. "I've been working on it. I just need a little more time."

Mr. Larkin crossed his arms over his chest. "Time's run out. I've given you two extensions already. If I don't see something soon, I'm going to have to find a new tenant. I can't keep giving you breaks."

Addie's tummy did somersaults. "I-I am trying. Business has been slow, but I have a plan. Please, just give me one more month."

He blew out a sigh, his face softening a fraction. "One more month, Addie. Beyond that, I'm sorry, but I have bills to pay too."

Addie nodded, her throat tight. "Thank you," she whispered.

He slams his hat onto his head, turns, and disappears into the chill of the morning, silent again, leaving the weight of his warning to lie heavy in the air.

Addie slumps against the counter, her chest heavy. Just one more month, all she has left.

She looks again in the picture of her grandmother. She says in a voice little more than a whisper, "I don't know that I can do this, Nonna. I don't know that I am strong enough."

But it was more than that-the bakery was all that remained of her grandmother. And this, too, was slowly escaping her grasp, slipping away into the ether as had the rest of the members in her family. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, refusing to let the tears fall.

It sounded again, this time more insistently, and the man entered, carrying a huge art portfolio. His dark hair had that bedhead thing, plus scruff along his jawline, an aura about him that screamed quiet confidence. Addie felt her pause.

"Hey," he said, his voice like silk. "You open?"

Addie hastily wiped her hands on her apron. "Yeah, we're open."

He smiled at her-eyes warm-as he made his way toward the counter. "Great. I'll take whatever you recommend.

Addie's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Anything?"

"Surprise me," he said, leaning casually on the counter, his eyes never leaving hers.

She faltered a moment before turning into the case for a newly baked almond croissant. "Here. These just came out of the oven."

He did, his fingers grazing hers light enough. He smiled. "Thanks. I'm Alex, by the way."

"Addie," she returned, feeling an odd flutter in her chest as he took a bite of the croissant.

His eyes widened and he nodded in approval. "This is great. You do all this yourself?"

Addie nodded. "Yeah, it's my grandmother's bakery. I've been running it since she passed."

Alex hunched over a little more, keeping his gaze on her a second longer. "A family legacy, huh? That isn't exactly something you run across every day."

"Nope, it isn't," Addie replied softly, finding herself drawn to this man in some kind of way she just didn't know. There was just something about him-something at which she just couldn't put her finger.

"Well, Addie," he said beaming, "I think from now on I shall have to come back more often."

And just like that, a wee fire was lit within her tummy.