I wiped my hands slowly on my apron. The lunch rush had thinned, but three regulars were pretending not to listen over their lattes. Vanessa kept talking, savoring every syllable. She’d already booked a renovation crew. She was rebranding it ‘Nessa’s.’ She wanted me out by Sunday. “You can keep the recipes,” she added generously. “I’ll be hiring a real pastry chef.”
I reached under the register and pulled out a folder of my own. Worn at the edges. Eli’s handwriting on the tab.
“Vanessa,” I said, “did Eli ever tell you why he insisted on a buy-sell clause?”
Her smile flickered.
“Section 7,” I continued, sliding the page across the counter. “In the event of a partner’s death, the surviving operating partner — that’s me — has first right to purchase the deceased’s shares at the original valuation. Thirty thousand dollars. I have ninety days. Eli died seventy-one days ago.”
The color drained from her cheeks like someone pulled a plug.
“That’s not — that’s not enforceable.”
“It’s notarized. My lawyer already filed the notice of intent on Monday.” I tapped the second page. “The certified check cleared escrow this morning. You were supposed to receive the courier package at two. Looks like you came here first.”
She grabbed for the folder. I gently moved it out of reach.
“The renovation crew?” I said. “You’ll want to cancel them. And the sign company. And the press release your assistant emailed me by mistake.”
One of the regulars, Mr. Ortega, lifted his coffee in a silent toast.
Vanessa’s mouth opened and closed. “Eli would have wanted —”
“Eli wanted the bakery protected,” I said softly. “From exactly this.”
She left without her folder. I watched her heels click across the tile and out into the late afternoon light. Then I turned to my regulars, untied my apron, and tied it back on tighter.
“Cinnamon rolls are on the house,” I announced. “We’re celebrating.”
The bell above the door rang as new customers walked in. Sugar & Salt was still mine. And Eli, somewhere, was finally resting easy.
