Chloe in Willowmere

Marco arrived early to open the bakery, as he always did, and found a single perfect white daisy sitting on the counter beside the register. He held it like something he wasn't sure he deserved — turning it slowly in the morning light, studying its petals as though they might tell him something. Someone in Willowmere had thought of him. That was enough. He found the small cobalt-blue vase his wife had painted years ago, filled it with water, and set the flower at the center of the counter where it caught the first sun through the window. He didn't need to know who left it. He just knew someone had remembered him, and for now, that was everything.