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It's not closed, exactly... (Open)
Jun. 21st, 2014 12:49 amFor the first time in months, there was something off this Saturday morning. Birds sang, the sun beat down - but there was no smell of baked goods in the air. Usually, the blocks around the Seaside Bakery would smell like cinnamon rolls and donuts until at least eleven - but this morning, there was nothing.
There wasn't even a closed sign on the door; it was locked, but to anyone who peered inside, the kitchen was dark and the usually overflowing bakery case was empty.
There was no easy explanation; Emily hadn't been at the wine tasting the night before, so there was no way she was hung over at home; if anyone asked her landlady, her room was just as it would normally be - with no one in it, at this time of day.
It turned out that she was somewhere else entirely, and those cases would remain empty.
Sunday, too - this time, there was a sign taped to the door that's handwritten - from the man who owned the Seaside. Have you seen Emily? No call, no show, didn't go home last night. Still, there were no answers.
There wasn't even a closed sign on the door; it was locked, but to anyone who peered inside, the kitchen was dark and the usually overflowing bakery case was empty.
There was no easy explanation; Emily hadn't been at the wine tasting the night before, so there was no way she was hung over at home; if anyone asked her landlady, her room was just as it would normally be - with no one in it, at this time of day.
It turned out that she was somewhere else entirely, and those cases would remain empty.
Sunday, too - this time, there was a sign taped to the door that's handwritten - from the man who owned the Seaside. Have you seen Emily? No call, no show, didn't go home last night. Still, there were no answers.
