The next morning dawned with heavy skies and heavier thoughts.
Lena stood outside the bakery before opening, the folder from Harper Holdings still tucked under her arm like a weight she couldn't shake. She stared at the sign hanging above the door—Hart & Hearth Bakery—its hand-painted letters now a silent promise she wasn't sure she could keep.
The town felt quieter than usual, as if it too sensed something was shifting.
Inside, Ava was already prepping. "You look like you haven't slept," she said, not looking up from the batter she was whipping.
"I didn't," Lena admitted. "I kept thinking about those renderings. About what the block would look like… without us."
Ava set down the whisk and leaned on the counter. "Do you want out? Because if you do, I'll support you. But if you're scared? Then that's just proof this place matters."
Lena nodded slowly. "It matters. I just don't know if wanting it is enough."
Before they could say more, the front door opened—and Mayor Joan Whitaker walked in, umbrella dripping and heels clicking against the tile. She smiled warmly, but her eyes were sharp.
"Morning, girls. I thought I'd stop by. I've been hearing rumors about redevelopment plans on this street."
Lena felt her spine straighten. "They're more than rumors. Harper Holdings sent someone yesterday. They're pushing for a zoning change."
Joan sighed and looked around the bakery with a softness that surprised Lena. "My grandmother used to bring me here for cherry turnovers. I got my first kiss behind this building. I'm not interested in seeing it replaced with a juice bar and a parking garage."
Lena's breath caught. "Then you won't support them?"
"I can't stop them alone," Joan admitted. "But if the businesses on this block unite and petition against the zoning change, we can delay it—maybe kill it altogether. You'll need signatures. Support. Public pushback."
Ava grinned. "We can be loud when we need to be."
Joan nodded. "Start talking to your neighbors. Get them on your side before Harper Holdings locks in anything permanent."
As the mayor left, Lena turned to Ava, a spark of hope catching fire.
"We're not out yet."
They spent the rest of the day quietly gathering information, speaking to other business owners. Some were hesitant—afraid to go up against a corporate giant—but others, like Old Man Rudy from the hardware store, were quick to rally.
"They take your bakery, they'll come for my shop next," he grumbled. "I didn't fight zoning boards in the '80s just to roll over now."
By the time they closed up, Lena had a half-filled petition and a growing list of allies.
Walker stopped by just as she flipped the sign to CLOSED.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"We've got support," she said, her eyes bright for the first time in days. "Enough to start a fight."
He stepped closer, pride in his voice. "You're incredible, you know that?"
"I'm stubborn," she corrected.
"Same thing."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I talked to my lawyer today. There are ways I can block this internally, too."
Together, they stood at the door of the bakery, hands clasped, watching the street.
Change was coming.
But so was resistance.
And Lena was ready to rise with it.