(Scarlett’s POV)
My plan for the day is simple. Make scuffles for every customer to celebrate my birthday.
I slide another tray of birthday soufflés into the oven, the delicate vanilla and lemon scent filling the warm air. They're perfect—light as air, golden on top, with just a hint of sweetness.
"Mama, they smell like clouds!" Lily bounces on her toes beside me, flour smudged across her cheek.
"Happy clouds," I agree, ruffling her curls. "Want to help me dust them with powdered sugar?"
She nods eagerly, and I hand her the small sifter. Her tongue pokes out in concentration as she carefully dusts each soufflé. The sight makes my chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with the ovens.
The bell chimes as our first customer arrives—Mrs. Anderson, who comes every Tuesday for her week
