Who knew placing second in national baking competition would flood your inbox with opportunities?

Not Clara Whitman.

A third-generation baker, Clara knows that businesses like hers are entrusted, not merely handed over. But with options beyond Blue Spruce Hills suddenly in the mix alongside a looming rent increase, she’s at a crossroads. She can afford to keep the bakery going, but not while pursuing something new.

In a small town where beloved establishments are slowly disappearing, however, even the idea of leaving feels traitorous.

When an up-and-coming violinist comes to town to settle the estate of his estranged grandfather and sell the music shop, he is both a distraction and a reminder that sometimes the real challenge in life is deciding how much of it you’re willing to change.

Sweet Harmony is a spirited celebration of a woman who believes every problem has a solution—set against a backdrop of small-town loyalties, beloved holiday traditions, and the romance that sneaks up on her

Most of my regulars aren’t rolling in money, but they’re willing to pay for coffee and baked goods from a third generation baker.

It’s their way of making sure I don’t sell out to a chain.

The hardware store went first; shortly after the Harvest Welcome festival in October. Mr. B knew whose pipes would freeze the second temperatures dropped below twenty degrees and whose drive would form black ice first. Lots of teenagers got their first job there. You’d walk in needing one hex nut bolt and leave forty minutes later fully updated on weather patterns, his wife’s health, and whose nephew was dating whom.

The pharmacy hurt in different ways. Bo, a sweet man who communicated primarily through nods, knew everyone’s allergies and didn’t need software to flag medication interactions. More importantly, he kept an unofficial eye on our seniors. If someone failed to pick up a prescription on time, he noticed.

Rationally, I understand that businesses change hands all the time. People retire or die, their kids don’t want to take over the business, buildings get sold. But when you lose enough places like Mr. B’s, the pharmacy, and now the music shop, the town you grew up in only looks the same. The pieces that made it feel like home are gone.

My thoughts veer toward the dark side again: what will happen to this place if I go? Mrs. Wallace raised my rent two years ago, too. Is there a conversation happening somewhere that I’m not aware of? Has she had an offer on the building?

These are utterly unhelpful thoughts. Thanks, brain.

I press the heel of my hand up against my chin. There’s nothing I can do about hypothetical situations and conversations. What I can do something about, however, is the fact that Albi Drechsler has been sitting next door for far too long without a cup of coffee and something to eat.

Which is, technically, a perfectly reasonable neighborly concern.

Not me avoiding my problems.

Not a keen interest in him, either. Although I’m less certain about that one.

I should stay here and finish inventory, or obsess about dog treats, but kindness is doing a lot of heavy lifting right now.

The decision is made before I can second-guess myself into changing my mind. I pack up the leftover savory muffins I was going to have for dinner, pour the last of the day’s coffee into a takeout cup, and head to the music shop.

Because that’s what people do in towns like ours.

They look in on each other

Alisa Jean is the pseudonym for award-winning authors Marla A. White and C J Bahr. They first teamed up over thirty years ago over a bottle of Zima (don’t ask) while polishing their gear for a horse show. They’ve since moved on to better beverages and writing novels.

Separately, Marla prefers to murder characters in the usual way, while C J uses paranormal means. The long-time best friends joined together as a writing team through their mutual love of hockey. Wonder twin powers activated! Their hockey romances examine flawed characters with heart, humor, and sexy sizzle.

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