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Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Smell of Home
Greta Nowak woke up the same way she had every morning for all eleven years of her life: to the smell of bread.
Not just any bread. This was her family's bread—crusty on the outside, soft as clouds on the inside, made from a recipe her great-grandmother had carried across the ocean from Poland. The smell crept up the stairs from the bakery below, curled under her bedroom door, and wrapped around her like a warm hug.
She threw off her covers and padded to the window. Below, the painted sign reading "Nowak's Bakery - Since 1962" swung gently in the autumn breeze. Across the street, the new building sat like an ugly gray box. Big blue letters spelled out "BAKER'S BEST - FRESH DAILY - LOW PRICES."
Greta's stomach tightened. The chain store had opened three weeks ago, and nothing had been the same since.
She got dressed quickly and hurried downstairs, past the framed photographs lining the stairwell. There was Babcia—her grandmother—as a young woman, flour dusting her dark hair. There she was again, older, teaching Greta's mother to roll dough. And there was five-year-old Greta herself, grinning with icing on her nose.
The bakery kitchen was already alive with activity. Her father, Papa, pulled trays from the big oven while her mother, Mama, piped frosting onto cinnamon rolls with practiced precision.
"Morning, sunshine," Papa said, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Morning." Greta grabbed her apron from the hook—the small blue one Babcia had sewn for her years ago. "Can I help with the display case?"
"That would be wonderful, kochanie." Mama used the Polish word for sweetheart, but her voice sounded tired.
Greta carried a tray of fresh rolls to the front of the shop. Through the window, she could see the Baker's Best parking lot already filling with cars. Their grand opening sale was still running: everything half price.
Mrs. Kowalczyk, who'd bought her bread here every Saturday for thirty years, walked past the window. She glanced at Nowak's, then kept walking toward the chain store.
Greta's heart sank like a stone in milk.
