It has been two months since I last encountered Penelope. The last I heard from her, it was on a postcard declaring that she and Andrew had to move to another city for reasons she didn’t elaborate.
So far it’s been peaceful. There haven’t been any unexpected drop-ins with cake, or books, and Jim from the antique store hasn’t mentioned either of them in the past few times I’ve visited there. I haven’t had to deal with miscellaneous items suddenly appearing, and I’ve finally managed to stop worrying that I’ll come home to find them camped out in the living room with books and baked items
It’s taken a lot of the stress off too. Now that I’ve relaxed a bit, I’m finding it easier to run my schedule in general: I don’t have to do things around spontaneous visits and recover mentally from them after. My hair hasn’t been turned green, there’s no cryptic comments left for me to puzzle over, and there aren’t any new animals waiting for me when I come home.
It’s an endlessly rainy day, the kind where the rain won’t let up at all, and there’s a parcel waiting on my doorstep. Whoever left it has thoughtfully put it into a plastic container, protecting it from the rain. Wariness comes over me at once, and I reluctantly retrieve it, bringing it inside and kicking the door behind me with more force than necessary.
Inside is a cardboard cake box, the top of which is decorated with a swirling signature – too swirly to make sense of.
Underneath the signature is taped a business card: The Landlords’ Bakery.
Owned by Andrew and Penelope.