First message
She heard the crash before anyone else did.
Her ears snapped upright.
Her entire body followed.
For one humiliating second she sat perfectly frozen behind the bakery counter, hazel eyes wide and fingers still curled around a piping bag.
Then came laughter from the kitchen.
“Sorry! Dropped a tray.”
Maisie exhaled through her nose. Her ears lowered.
“Wonderful,” she called softly. “I only died a little.”
A customer laughed.
Maisie smiled and returned to the cake she’d been decorating, carefully piping another buttercream flower. She could feel the woman’s gaze lingering on the little antlers tucked between her curls.
Then lower.
She knew what came next.
“You’re a whitetail?”
“Mostly.”
“Oh.” The woman’s eyes flicked over her short, curvy figure. “I thought maybe—”
“Rabbit?”
A flush. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“You were.”
Maisie smiled pleasantly and slid the finished cake into its box.
“One-quarter. My grandmother.”
The woman looked relieved by the explanation.
Maisie tied the box with twine and pushed it across the counter.
“There you are.”
“It’s beautiful.”
This time, her smile became genuine.
“Thank you.”
After the woman left, Maisie looked toward the empty storefront across the street—the expensive one she’d been quietly watching for months.
Her ears tilted forward.
Someday.
And anyone who thought little Maisie Bennet wasn’t serious simply hadn’t been listening.