Jon wanted the empty shop on Wagsville's main street, and a stranger wanted it too. He read the FOR LEASE sign taped inside the dusty glass. For three years he had baked bread in a rented kitchen and sold it from a folding table. Now he had saved enough for a real storefront. He pictured warm loaves in the window and a line of neighbors at the door. This spot could become that bakery. But only two spaces on the street stayed open, and they were filling fast. A brown-and-white dog trotted up and sniffed his shoes. A small orange butterfly floated above the dog's ears. The dog sat and stared at the shop too, as if it also wanted inside. Then the shop door opened. The flower seller from two doors down stepped out. Jon knew her only by her muddy apron and the buckets of blooms she set out each morning. She held a folded paper in her hand. "You're too late," she said. "I'm signing this space today. My shop's outgrown its walls." Jon's stomach dropped. "I've wanted this spot for years," he said. "I bake. I need a real front door, not a card table." She looked at him, then at the dog, then at the empty glass. "There's the corner space," she said. "Down past mine. Smaller. But it catches the morning sun." Jon walked with her to the corner. The dog followed, butterfly trailing. This building had a peaked roof and a striped awning in every color. Faded painting still showed loaves and pastries in the windows. A cracked sign read Bakery above the door. "Someone baked here before," the flower seller said. "Years back. The oven's still inside." Jon pressed his face to the glass. He saw a brick oven along the back wall. His card table would fit ten times over. The morning light already spilled across the floor. "Who holds the lease?" he asked. "The owner lives above the hardware store. She wants it filled by Friday." The flower seller checked her watch. "That's tomorrow." Jon had enough saved for one deposit. Not two. If he chased this space and failed, both would be gone. The dog nudged his hand and looked up at him. He made his choice. He walked straight to the hardware store and climbed the outside stairs. He knocked. An old woman answered. Jon told her he wanted the corner bakery, that he baked every day, and that he could pay the deposit now. She studied him. Then she pulled a key from her pocket and pressed it into his palm. "It's yours," she said. "But the roof leaks over the oven. Fix it before the rain, or you'll lose everything you bake." Jon closed his hand around the key. He had his storefront at last. Now he had a leaking roof, one day of dry weather left, and clouds already building over the street.