One

Red was on her way to work this time, she passed through Sycamore Station, finding herself at the infamous platform.

Sack-of-flour Station, she liked to call it, but the sack of flour wasn't on that particular track anymore for obvious reasons. She hadn't told Timothy this.

As the last thought crossed her mind she realised she hadn't seen Timothy in a while since that last occasion.

Her nephew Jordan's birthday. (Refer to the first chapter in Maptropolis Journal)

That evening, Dante, her brother, was able to share the wholesome experience of baking a cake with his son. It must have been pure chance, since all it took was for Timothy to drop the flour, delaying them by a staggering 16 minutes.

"Although, I did forget the flour myself in the first place..."

She decided to think about something else for the reader's sake, as she deemed reminiscent thoughts uninteresting after a couple of paragraphs. She decided to think about what the cake of the day would be at her workplace, and possible conversations to start with her colleagues. It was harrowing, especially since one of which's response to everything was "fair enough,"

A real turn-off, particularly when the bakery wasn't as lively during the working day. With the peak time usually being after school or work for most people, Red had to find ways to keep herself entertained until the footfall increased even if it meant conversing with someone you'd never want to talk to unless you were handed a fat stack of cash.

It was that bad. But now Red's mind wandered to the subject of cash. How nice it would be to have some right now, she thought, although there was no way of getting some instantaneously or without some form of effort...

She yawned, remembering a conversation she'd had with her brother that morning.

"How would you rate my culinary skills?"

"Your what?" Red repeated, putting down her glass of orange juice. The two of them had been sat at the dining table as Jordan prepared himself for preschool.

The kid had become quite independent as of late. He figured because Dante had taught him how to turn on the oven that other time, tying laces and applying bow ties was a breeze. Red didn't see the correlation and thought it was highly irresponsible of Dante considering the kid shouldn't even be let near a stove...especially when he was pretty much the same height as the appliance. But that isn't important.

"Culinary skills!" Dante replied, wolfing down a mouthful of cereal, "Like baking and stuff,"

Baking and stuff. Red thought about it for a while. Dante wasn't exactly bad, and he was certainly better than good. Like, it beat her cooking out of the park by a mile.

"I suppose it's better than great, " she admitted frankly.

"A hard 9?"

"A hard 10"

That was probably the answer he wanted.

"You're damn right! aren't you two lucky to live under the same roof as me?"

His enthusiasm was contagious, as Jordan caught on, hopping around gleefully, "Damn straight!".

Red was concerned, "So, uh, what brought this on?"

"I've entered the Golden Acorn Challenge! You've heard of it right?"

Red had indeed heard of it.

"It's the only thing advertised everywhere right now, of course, I have."

Twiddling his thumbs now, Dante grew bashful, "Y'see, I've always wanted to enter, I would have entered last year but I needed a permanent address to do so..."

"Its really okay, " Red realised where he was going with this train of thought, "It's great having you here, even the little dude,"

He took her hands earnestly, "When I win this thing, I'm going to make sure you never have to work again, okay?"

"...Okay?" Red was still only 18, mind you.

"And we'll all live together in a castle forever and ever--"

The flashback was no longer relevant in this context, Red figured, but the prizes from winning the Golden Acorn Challenge weren't to be laughed off. The competition was organised by the mayor's office, after all.

With the latter part of her commute to work passing by in a blur, she soon found herself eyeing the sample tray at work.

The store was vacant save for herself, as her colleague was on break, and the area outside the shop front was pretty much empty. At first glance.

She wandered over from behind the counter to the front of the bakery, watching people passing by. It was a typical summers day in Oakcrest, late May, so the trees were in bloom, a shifting sea of greens and the occasional amber. Across from her bakery on the high street was a park, so most of the activity was from there. The ice cream parlour, the 'super obscure' burger joint that the hipsters claimed as their territory, and a romantic garden with a pond to boot. Idyllic, really.

But Red didn't care. Most signs of life were over there, and the street was empty meaning no one would see. Now was her chance.

She returned to the counter and brought the sampling tray closer to herself. Today's sample was apple pie. Pulling on a pair of gloves, she discreetly attempted to scoff a few pieces--

Someone coughed, from outside the bakery, instantly activating her fight or flight response.

It was an equally confused-looking Timothy Burke.