It was the kind of smell that could lift you off your feet. The aroma attracted half a dozen children with smiles as big as croissants. Sniffing like curious dogs, they looked at the counter and said nothing as they awaited their treats. My joy mirrored theirs as I presented the muffins.

Wow, they’re so warm! They said, and they’re so soft! How right they were. They get sweeter every day! Indeed they did. Once each child had taken one, more pastries still remained. Why did you bake thirteen? I told them I called it a baker’s dozen: two for each of them so they could share with a friend. The last one? That one was for me.

In time, they found their way back onto the cobblestones, laughing and singing, bellies full. They spread out across town, telling all their friends about the kind man who lived on Drury Lane. They never asked for my name, but that didn’t bother me. I was only known, affectionately, as the Muffin Man. Such a title instilled happiness in all who heard it. I always felt the youth were precious, and I longed for one of my own. We intended to try, she and I, but never got the chance.

Finally, the night air quieted them as the town began its slumber. I hushed out the lights and cooled the oven before returning to my bedroom. I untied my apron and placed it upon the second hanger, not the first. My bones ached from standing, so I crawled into the bed which was much too large for me. The soft breaths from before were replaced with haunting silence which refused to let me be. I had not expected the Reaper to collect more than just wheat, so I was powerless to stop him. The only thing I could do now was close my eyes and drift off to the one place where I could be with her.

In the morning, the dough rose with the Sun. The ovens ran hot as the muffin baking process continued. The children would be here soon, and I had to be ready. I had to keep going; not for me, but for them. It is what she would’ve wanted.

– Gregory Halley

Author’s Note: When I originally created this story, I was prompted to reimagine an existing fairy tale. I was drawn to the Muffin Man because, well, muffins are one of my favorite foods. The Muffin Man dearly misses his late wife, and his daily work reminds him of her at every turn. The muffins are soft and sweet just like her, and the baker’s dozen idea really solidified the concept for me. I’ve always been drawn to characters who project outward positivity but hold deep grief inside. Everything the Muffin Man does is in service to his wife’s memory, particularly for the children as they never had the chance to have them. This is one of my first short stories, so its acceptance into The Bookends Review means a lot to me.