(A short story by Irene B.) Kira stood in the long, winding pickup line at Bake My Day bakery, already late and already irritated. Her thick, mid-length hair was pulled into a neat, low bun, with loose curls escaping just enough to brush her warm brown cheeks. The place should have been fast. It always was when she wanted a quick sneaky treat, no latte needed, which meant she could skip the second line for the custom, overly complicated orders. She’d placed the cake order last week for pickup today. In the past, it took a few extra minutes to add in a few more sprinkles, encouraged by the competent…
