Lacey's Arc

Chapter 7 of 8

The money Lacey earned at the market wasn't enough. She wanted more than a corner porch. She wanted the whole cafe. One morning she caught Billy behind the porch, crouched in the grass, phone propped against a milk can. He was filming her hands. She'd been rolling dough, wrapping sausage, stacking rolls in paper, and he'd been recording all of it. "Don't stop," Billy said, waving her back. "People want to see this." He turned the phone to show her. A short clip of her flouring the bench had six thousand views. A woman in the comments asked where to buy one. Another begged for the recipe. Lacey watched the number climb while she stood there. Billy had been quiet about it for days. He'd filmed her shaping dough, piping frosting onto little cakes, sliding trays into the oven. He posted the clips at night. Now he showed her a list of orders stacked on his phone. Strangers were paying up front, before they'd tasted a thing. "I didn't want to tell you until it worked," he said. His ears went red. "We said no hiding. So. No hiding." He turned the screen so she could read the total. It was more than three market days combined. Lacey pressed her hand to her mouth. The number was enough. Enough for the renovation she'd sketched in her head: real walls, a proper oven, mismatched chairs, a chalkboard menu. Enough to add the little iced cakes she'd been too scared to sell. She laughed and spun, and the golden dog barked and chased her skirt. They filled the orders for a week. Billy drove the deliveries. Lacey baked until her arms ached. The cakes sold out before the sausage rolls did. By Friday the renovation money sat safe in an envelope, and Lacey let herself believe the cafe was close enough to touch. Then Billy went still over his phone. He turned it toward her slowly. A new comment sat under the most popular clip. A man asked, plainly, where the farm sourced its wheat, and whether the family knew their grain was in a stranger's business. "That's my uncle," Billy said. His voice dropped. "He follows my dad's pages." He lowered the phone. "They don't know yet. About the wheat. Now the whole town's watching me give it away." Lacey's joy cooled in her chest. The videos had built her cafe. The same videos had just dragged Billy's secret into the open before he could tell his own family. Billy stared at the milk can where the phone had sat. "I have to tell them now," he said. "Tonight. Before they hear it from a comment." He looked at her. "Come with me. Bring the sausage rolls. If they're going to meet you, let them taste what their wheat built." Lacey wrapped a fresh batch in paper. The cafe money was real. So was the reckoning waiting at Billy's door.