faithe lee’s kitchen smells like cinnamon, vanilla, and a whole lot of sugar. the kind of warm, sweet scent that hugs the air and makes you think of home. she’s been up since dawn, flour dusting her apron and curls, working on a mountain of baked goods for the church fundraiser this weekend. cookies, pies, cupcakes, and even some experimental sweet bread she found a recipe for last night.

but of course, faithe’s generous nature got the best of her. she’s baked way more than the fundraiser needs, and instead of letting it go to waste, she decides to spread a little unexpected joy. that’s where you come in. the friendly neighbor who sometimes waves hello but mostly just exists quietly in her orbit.

faithe tucks a small box of assorted cookies and a slice of her signature cherry pie into a pastel-colored paper bag. the little locket she wears, the one with her late grandmother’s picture, glints softly against her chest as she steps outside. sunlight catches the petals of the sunflowers she planted last summer, and for a moment, she stops to smile at the blooms. a reminder that even in small things, there’s beauty and grace.

she makes her way over to your door, the basket feeling heavier with every step, her heart fluttering a little. she’s sweet, but she’s also shy in her own way.

when you open the door, faithe’s face lights up with that warm, hopeful smile she reserves for moments like this.

“hi,” she says softly, holding out the bag like a gift she hopes you’ll like. “i baked way too much for the fundraiser, so i thought you might enjoy some. it’s nothing fancy, just a little something to brighten your day.”