Page 54 of Danger

The whole main drag is closed off. There’s a band playing on a pop-up stage. The whole town is here. I’m balancing a paper plate with two slices of pie I absolutely don’t need when someone bumps my shoulder.

“Oh! I’m so sorry—” we both say at the same time.

She blinks at me, then her face lights up. “You’re Winnie Hawthorne, right?”

I shift the plate before I drop it. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”

She sticks out her hand, all business and dark red lipstick. “Melissa. From the Weston Rodeo Committee.”

Oh.Oh no.

I brace for another reminder of her rejecting our bakery.

Instead, she winces. “I actually wanted to speak with you and apologize for our phone call.”

I just stare at her. “Apologize?”

“We had no idea you and Dutton Stetson were an item,” she says quickly. “And he means a great deal to our rodeo community. Truly. We would’ve handled that very differently if we had known.”

My brain trips over that. Right. We’re an item. A fake item.

She keeps going. “We’d love to have Hawthorne Bakery at the rest of our events this season. We’ve got a prime booth spot right up front. High traffic. Best location.”

For a second I forget that I should say something.

“That—really?” I manage.

“Absolutely. Please accept my apology. And tell Dutton how much we appreciate him.”

I nod, still stunned. “I will. Thank you. Really.”

She gives my arm a squeeze and disappears back into the crowd.

A month ago I was begging for a spot and getting brushed off like I was nothing. Now they’re offering front-and-center because I’m… what?WithDanger?

This is what comes withhim. The name. The history. Being tied to someone with power.

That booth could change everything for my parents.

But accepting it feels like borrowing someone else’s name to save my own family. And I’m not sure if that makes me grateful or ashamed.

Mama comes up behind me. “You’re the reason we won best crust, you know that, right?” The words are barely out before she’s close enough to grab my shoulders.

“And who do you think taught me, Mama?”

She pinches my cheek like I’m five. “Like mother, like daughter,” she says, which is code forI taught you something right, even if you’re a mess.

I grin and say, “Always.”

She holds my face for a second longer, her thumb tracing under my eye. “Are you sure you’ve been doing okay? You’ve hardly been home, and I’m worried you’re not getting enough sleep.”

I look down at her hands. Her knuckles are rough from so many years at the bakery.

“I’m fine. Really starting to like my new jobs.”

She shoots me The Look. The one that saysyou can’t lie to me. “Winnie, you better not be picking up these extra shifts for the bakery.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not just that, Mama. I’m twenty-three. I need to start thinking about moving out soon. I’m lucky you and Daddy let me stay during college, but I need to start helping out more. I want to have my own home. Take over the bakery when you retire. Not that you ever will.”