Sugar sky had the recipes, the tins, and a lifetime of dreaming, but no place to bake. The seaside bakery they wanted lived only in a notebook, sketched in pencil across forty pages. In Brinetomb, empty shorefront lots went fast, and Sugar sky had missed three already. This morning they held a fourth listing in one hand and a leash in the other. The leash belonged to a kitten with dragonfly wings, who tugged toward the water and lifted an inch off the sand. "Not yet," Sugar sky said, and the kitten dropped back down. The listing showed a small house near the tideline. A treehouse address, oddly, the paper said the owner lived up in the woods. Sugar sky had one hour before another buyer arrived. They walked fast along the shore, boots wet, notebook pressed to their chest. They found it at the edge of the sand. A cottage stood on wooden stilts, its boards painted mint and pink, salt-worn but standing. A porch wrapped the front. Wide windows faced the sea. Sugar sky stopped and stared. An oven could fit behind those windows. Trays of bread would cool where the light came in. The kitten pulled again and flew up to the porch rail. It landed there and mewed, wings catching sun. A woman climbed down from a treehouse set back in the trees. She moved slow, one hand on the rope stair, a ring of keys hooked on her belt. She reached the sand and squinted at Sugar sky. "You the baker?" she asked. "The one who keeps calling?" "That's me." "Others called too." She jangled the keys. "One offered more." Sugar sky's stomach dropped. They opened the notebook and turned it around. Page after page of the bakery, drawn by hand. The counter. The shelves. The little sign above the door. "I don't have more money," Sugar sky said. "I have this. I've wanted it since I was a kid. I'll fill that porch with people every morning." The woman looked at the pages a long time. Then she looked at the kitten on her rail, purring now. She sighed. "My mother baked in a place like this," she said. "The other buyer wants to knock it down." She unhooked one key and held it out. "Don't knock it down." Sugar sky took the key. Their hand shook. The metal was warm from her belt. "It's yours," the woman said. "Sign tomorrow. Pay me what you can." She climbed back toward the trees. The kitten flew down and circled Sugar sky's legs. Sugar sky unlocked the pink door and stepped inside. The floor sloped. The walls smelled of damp and old paint. A whole corner leaned where a beam had cracked. The dream finally had a home, and the home was falling apart.

The morning after signing, Sugar sky stood under the cracked beam and stared up at it. The wood ran across the whole ceiling. A dark split cut through its middle. Sugar sky pressed a hand to the corner where the wall leaned. If they patched the beam wrong, the roof could drop. If they guessed the damage was small when it wasn't, someone could get hurt. They needed to see how deep the crack went before they touched it. Sugar sky fetched a ladder from the porch. The kitten with dragonfly wings flew up and perched on the beam. Sugar sky climbed the rungs and shone a flashlight along the wood. Near the wall, the split widened. Water stains spread out from it like a brown map. Sugar sky pushed a screwdriver into the crack. It sank in soft. The wood was rotten deep, not just cracked. This was worse than a patch job. Sugar sky sat on the top rung and thought. They had no money for a builder. But they knew who might help. Yesterday the seller had mentioned her mother once baked in a place like this. That kind of person kept things. Old tools. Old knowledge. Sugar sky walked inland and found a big grand house with stone steps and warm lights in every window. Green shutters framed the glass. A balcony sat above the red door. Sugar sky knocked. The seller answered, wiping flour from her hands. "The beam," Sugar sky said. "It's rotten through, not just cracked. I don't know how far it runs." The woman looked at Sugar sky a moment. Then she stepped back. "My mother had the same trouble once," she said. She went inside and returned with a long iron probe and a folded paper. "Her repair plan. She marked where the rot always starts by the sea. Push the probe every foot. Where it stops going in, the wood is still sound. That's where you cut." Sugar sky took both. "Why help me?" "You didn't knock it down." She closed the red door. Back at the cottage, Sugar sky climbed the ladder again. They pushed the probe along the beam, foot by foot. Soft, soft, soft. Then, four feet from the wall, the iron stopped. Hard wood. Sugar sky marked the spot with chalk. They did the same from the other side. A clear line showed. The rot ran six feet. The rest held firm. Sugar sky climbed down and looked at the chalk marks. Now they knew. Cut out six feet, brace the ends, fit new wood. No more guessing. No falling roof. But the marked section was long. New beam wood cost money Sugar sky didn't have. The kitten landed on the notebook of designs and mewed. Sugar sky opened it and stared at the drawings. The dream still stood. It just needed lumber they couldn't yet buy.