LAVENDER HONEY PIE

LAVENDER HONEY PIE

Emma Hart had bult her small bakery the way some people build hope-carefully, quietly, determinedly. “Sweet Briar Bakery” sat on the corner of Willowbend and Clairemont where the wind always seemed to carry the smell of sugar and where the bell on the door chimed like someone whispering welcome home.

She’d spent the last year learning the rhythms of the place: the hum of early-morning ovens, the soft sigh of dough as it rose, the way the first light of dawn slipped through the front windows. The townspeople had quickly fallen in love with her macarons, her lemon scones, her blackberry brioche.

But her newest creation-Lavender Honey Pie-was something different. Something more personal. Its recipe had come to her on a sleepless night, when she’d stared at the soft glow of her kitchen lights and wandered if she ever stop feeling the ache of being left behind.

Lavender for calm. Honey for sweetness that stayed.

A pie that tasted like healing.

That morning, she placed a fresh pie on the counter, its scent mingling with warm air and quiet hope.

That was the moment the bell above the door chimed.

Emma turned and saw him.

He stood framed in pale winter sunlight, snowflakes dissolving in his dark hair, a bag slung over his shoulder. He looked like someone who’d been traveling for a long time, not in miles but in heartache. But when he saw her, his expression softened, as if something unexpected had clicked into place.

“Hi,” he said, voice warm despite the cold. “I think something in here just saved my life.”

Emma blinked, “That’s a strong claim for a bakery.”

“It smells like a memory I didn’t know I had.”

She felt a smile tug at her lips. “Lavender Honey Pie. It’s new.”

He stepped closer to the counter, hands in his pockets, studying her as much as the pie. “Can I try a slice? For scientific purposes, of course.”

She plated one for him, watching as he lifted the fork to his lips. When he tasted it, something in his face eases like a knot loosening.

“You just ruined every dessert I’ve ever had,” he said.

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s absolutely a compliment.” He glanced around. “I’m Lucas by the way. Just moved into town. Needed breakfast. Didn’t expect… this.”

“This?” she teased.

“This,” he said, gesturing between her and the pie. “The Perfect combination of magic and comfort.”

The Weeks That Followed

Lucas returned the next morning. And the next. And the next after that.

“You don’t even pretend it’s for the pie anymore,” Emma said one day as he leaned against the counter, watching her decorate cupcakes.

“I like the pie,” he said. “But I like you more.”

Her heart stuttered, but she forced herself to stay focused on the frosting. “Careful. Flattery doesn’t earn extra samples.”

He grinned. “But what if I help wash the dishes?”

She hands him a towel.

And so, it became their ritual-he’d work remotely from the corner table, she’d bake and they’d share quiet conversations between batches. Customers began to notice.

“You two are adorable,” Mrs. Winthrop, one of the regulars said one afternoon.

Emma flushed. Lucas smirked. “I think so too.”

But Emma felt the fear creeping in. She’d loved before. She’d given someone her heart and watched them leave without looking back. She didn’t trust easily-not anymore.

Every time Lucas brushed flour from her cheek or stayed late to help her lock up, her heart fluttered… and tightened.

She didn’t know how to let herself fall again.

A Night of Snow and Truth

One evening, a heavy snowfall blanketed the town. Emma was closing the bakery when Lucas appeared at the door, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Walk you home?” he offered.

She hesitated. “It’s only a few blocks.”

“I know. But I want to.”

They stepped into the quiet street, snow muffling the world. Lucas moved closer; his shoulder warm against hers.

“You’ve been quieter lately,” he said gently. “Did I do something?”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s me. It’s… everything.”

He stopped walking. “Talk to me.”

Emma stared at her boots. “Everyone I’ve cared about has left. I don’t know how to trust what I’m feeling. And I don’t know what you want.”

“I want you,” Lucas said, voice steady. “Not for a moment. Not because the pie is good. But because you’re the warmest part of this town, and somehow, you make me feel like I belong.”

Her breath caught.

He stepped closer. “I’m not promising perfection or forever. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere unless you ask me too.”

Snowflakes drifted between them like falling stars.

Emma lifted her gaze, and he looked at her the way people look at things they don’t want to lose.

“Lucas…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He cupped her cheek with slow, quiet tenderness. “If you’re scared, I’ll go slow. As slow as you need. I just- “His voice cracked the smallest bit. “I want the chance to love you.”

Her heart, stitched together so carefully over the years, gave the softest sigh.

So, she closed the distance.

Their kiss was gentle at first-hesitant, warm, tasting of winter air and newfound courage. Then deeper, like something inside both of them had been waiting for this moment far longer than they knew.

When they pulled apart, Lucas rested his forehead against hers. “Your lavender honey pie is comfort,” he murmured. “But you… you’re home.”

After

Lucas didn’t disappear.

He didn’t pull away.

He didn’t run.

Instead…

He showed up every morning with the sunrise.

He brought her coffee just the way she liked it.

He kissed her softly in the kitchen when the ovens preheated.

He made her laugh until she dropped a tray of muffins.

He held her on the nights old fears tried to steal her breath.

And little by little, Emma learned to believe again.

The pie that had once meant healing now meant something new-hope, warm, and lasting and filled with the sweetness of a love that stayed.

And nobody in Willowbend doubt it.

Sweet Briar Bakery had never smelled sweeter than on the day Emma hart let herself fall in love.