Serina wonderland's Arc

Chapter 1 of 9

Serina pressed the dough with the heel of her hand, and the chopped heart-shaped fruit slid right back out. She scooped the pieces up. They squished through her fingers, pink juice running down her wrist. Her third batch of the morning. Her apron was already ruined. She wanted this loaf to be perfect. Not for the shop window. For him. Somewhere past the flour-dusted counter of her little cottage bakery lived a boy whose name she hadn't said aloud to anyone, and she had decided, quietly, that a loaf of bread would be how she told him. A one-of-a-kind gift. Something no one else could give. The problem was she didn't know what she was doing. She had the fruit from the tree behind the shop, the kind that was supposed to hold feelings inside it. She had the flour, the sugar, the patience. She did not have the trick. A small sound came from the door. Serina looked up. A girl stood on the step, half-hidden behind the frame. Her pink dress was torn at the hem. Her feet were bare. She looked like she had been watching for a while and didn't plan to come in. "You can come inside," Serina said. She waved her in with a floury hand. "It's warm." The girl edged forward. She stopped at the counter and stared at the ruined dough. "It keeps falling apart," Serina said. The girl pointed at the bowl of chopped fruit. "You cut them too small." Serina blinked. "You bake?" "My mom did." The girl's voice went flat on the word. She didn't look up. Serina slid the bowl toward her. The girl picked out a whole heart-shaped fruit, cupped it in both palms, and held it like something she remembered. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes went soft. Something in Serina's chest pulled tight. She watched the girl's face and felt the answer arrive before she could name it. The fruit didn't need to be cut. It needed to be held. It carried whatever the baker was carrying. That was the gift. Not making things. Loving them into shape. Serina took a fresh piece of dough. She pressed a whole fruit into the center and folded the dough over it the way you'd tuck a blanket. She thought about the boy. She thought about the girl in front of her, hungry and pretending not to be. The dough held. She slid the loaf into the oven. When she pulled it out, the crust was gold and the kitchen smelled like every kitchen the girl had ever wanted to go back to. Serina tore off a piece and handed it over. The girl took one bite and started to cry. Serina set down the loaf. She had her gift now. She also had a barefoot child at her counter who wasn't going anywhere, and a loaf meant for a boy she still hadn't spoken to.