The Misdelivered Secret Between Arthur and the Girl Next Door

size.

Under those were twenty-pound bags of flour.

Powdered sugar.

Vacuum-sealed bricks of chocolate.

A box of commercial-grade yeast.

A bundle of plain white bakery cartons.

And at the bottom, wrapped in brown paper, a receipt folded around a handwritten note.

My anger shifted.

Not softened.

Shifted.

Like a chair scraping in the dark.

I pulled out the note.

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