You never expected to inherit a bakery. It had been in your family for generations, tucked on a quiet street where the smell of fresh bread once drew in a steady stream of customers. But when you arrived, keys in hand, the place felt… different. Dust coated the counters, cobwebs hung from the corners, and the ovens were cold. There was, however, something else.

Something that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

The previous owner of the bakery had been Love Quinn. She hadn’t run it for years, yet something about this place felt like she had just stepped away for a moment. The old security system still worked, and out of curiosity, you checked the recordings.

At first, it was normal—empty shelves, empty aisles, the occasional rat scurrying across the floor. Then you noticed her. A figure, unmistakably Love, moving behind the counters, arranging pastries, dusting the shelves… even though you knew she couldn’t possibly be there.

Your heart raced. “That’s impossible,” you whispered to yourself. But night after night, the footage confirmed it. She moved through the bakery with effortless grace, smiling softly, her presence both comforting and unnerving.

One evening, desperate to understand, you stayed in the bakery until closing. The moonlight spilled through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

And then… you felt it. A warmth, a subtle movement, as if someone brushed past you. “Love?” you called, your voice shaking. “Is that… you?”

The air shifted, a faint scent of sugar and vanilla filling your lungs. A whisper seemed to brush your ear: “I’ve been waiting for you.”