Pixie wanted to belong to the Candyland Cafe, but this morning the cafe had no room for a lost pink fairy. She had drifted in three days ago, half-frozen, and no one had asked her to stay. Now she hovered near the icing-trimmed ceiling and watched chaos below. The morning rush had swallowed the place whole. A line snaked out the candy-colored door. Cups clattered. Steam hissed. Somewhere a pot boiled over. Pixie was the size of a teaspoon. Her hands could not lift a tray or work the till. She could sprinkle fairy dust, and little else. If she wanted a permanent place here, she had to prove she was worth keeping. But how could tiny hands help this? Behind the counter, a cowgirl fought the crowd alone. Cassidy Rawlins had a whip coiled at her belt and a scowl fixed on her face. She was the one who'd let Pixie sleep by the ovens, and the only one who hadn't shooed her out. Now Cassidy slammed a cracked scone onto a plate. "I've got four hands' worth of work and two hands," Cassidy snapped. She shoved hair from her eyes. "And a line that won't quit. Folks are about to walk." The customers grumbled. One man tapped his coin on the counter. A woman turned toward the door. Pixie saw it happen: the rush was breaking the cafe apart, and Cassidy couldn't hold it. Pixie looked at the tray of scones cooling by the till. Golden, cracked, dusted with cinnamon sugar. Nobody wanted to wait. But nobody could resist a treat that sparkled. She dove. She swept low over the scones and shook fairy dust from her fingers. The cinnamon sugar caught the light. Each scone shimmered, then glowed soft and warm. The smell bloomed thick and sweet through the whole room. The tapping man stopped. He leaned in. "What is that?" "Free while you wait," Pixie called, her voice thin as a bell. She darted from the tray to the line, dropping a glowing scone into each waiting hand. The impatient woman near the door turned back. She bit down. Her eyes went wide. The grumbling died. People pointed at the tiny pink shape zipping over their heads. They laughed. They pulled out more coins. The line settled and shuffled forward, happy now, fed and dazzled. Cassidy stared. She wiped her hands on her jeans and let out a slow breath. "Well, I'll be," she said. "You just saved my whole morning." Pixie beamed and hovered above the counter, glowing herself. Then Cassidy's smile faded. She looked at the empty tray. "That was every scone we had," she said. "You gave them all away. The baker's out sick, and I don't know the recipe." She crossed her arms. "Now we've got a crowd that wants more of your magic treats, and nothing left to sell them."