PENELOPE
The day had barely started, and already, it felt like I was running on fumes.
The bakery was filled with energy — customers in and out, trays flying from oven to display, and Maya practically sprinting between stations with a grin on her face. Jess and I barely kept up.
Jess kept up, I was the one barely keeping up.
It wasn’t even noon when the First Lady herself who had become one of our bakery’s biggest fans — strolled through the door, her assistant close behind her.
Shutting down the street for a moment again, as her security was stationed just outside the bakery, Maya on the other far corner was bubbling in excitement as the First Lady was here.
“Penelope,” she greeted, her voice warm. “I have a favor.”
I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped forward. “Of course. Anyt
