Tending the Hearth

Mara, a sharp, funny, and guarded woman of 39,

had fled the burnout of a high-pressure city restaurant kitchen to open The Hearth in the

small coastal town of Miller’s Crossing. Her bakery, specializing in pastries,

coffee, and tea, had quickly established itself as the center of the town’s morning

rhythm. It was a typical February morning, where the wind was so biting cold,

you could feel it in your bones. The bell over the bakery door made a little jingle

as it opened, the sound too small for the rush of cold that followed. “Morning,” a man

in the doorway said, stamping snow off his boots. “You say that like it’s not below freezing,”