"Especially with yours," I said, pressing my hand to his chest. "It's my favorite part."
Lucy squealed from behind us. "That's adorable! Can I post that?" She'd embraced being one of Santa's elves with enthusiasm—green tights, pointed ears, and enough jingle bells to announce her presence from a block away. She'd been documenting our presence on social media, which had exploded with followers since the competition.
She checked her phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. "The party at Mason's farm just started. Would it be okay if I headed out? I mean, I can stay if you need me—"
"Go," I laughed. "No sixteen-year-old should spend all Halloween night working. We've got this."
"You're the best!" She grabbed her overnight bag from behind the counter. "I'll post those photos tonight!"
The bell above the door jingled as she left, immediately replaced by a wave of trick-or-treaters. "Midnight Maple Shadows!" a boy dressed as Spider-Man shouted. "The winning candy!"
I handed him one of the special Halloween boxes we'd created—black with gold maple leaves, each containing two of the now-famous truffles. Business had been better than I'd dared hope since Sunday.
Throughout the evening, familiar faces stopped by. The hardware store owner bought three boxes. A woman I recognized from the post office smiled as she selected treats. "Congratulations on your win. We're glad you're staying in town."
Each friendly nod loosened something in my chest that had been wound tight for years. People I'd only passed on the street now stopped to chat, to congratulate me, to welcome me properly to Woodbridge Falls.
During a lull, I leaned against Sawyer. "I keep waiting for something to go wrong."
"Why?"
"This." I gestured at the shop, the steady flow of customers, the stack of orders. "It feels too good to be real."
He turned me to face him, his painted face serious despite the costume. "You earned this."
"Even after what I've been through?"
"Because of what you've survived." His thumb traced my cheek. "You fought for this. You deserve every good thing that's coming."
My phone rang—not a text, an actual call. Mom's number lit up the screen.
"Cinnamon?" Her voice was tentative when I answered. "We saw the news about your competition win online. Some food blogger shared the story."
"Mom." My voice cracked slightly. Sawyer squeezed my hand.
"We're so proud of you, sweetheart. Your father and I would love to come for Thanksgiving, if you'll have us."
I hadn't seen them since my life imploded. "I'd love that."
"Good." She paused. "You sound happy, really happy."
I looked at Sawyer, this stubborn tree farmer who'd helped me rebuild. "I am, Mom. I really am."
"Then we can't wait to see you and your new life there."
After we hung up, I stood there for a moment, phone in hand.
"You okay?" Sawyer asked.
"They want to reconnect. After what I put them through."
"They love you. That never stopped, even when things got bad."
"I want you to meet them when they come."
"I'd like that," he said simply.
Chief Morrison knocked on the window, giving us a thumbs up. He'd stopped by yesterday to tell us they'd found evidence at my shop—Garrett's fingerprints, security footage from the bank showing him breaking in.
