#(It quickly becomes Alex and Willie's favourite date spot as well because Carrie's Anti Anxiety Cupcakes are just perfect.)

[innytoes]

She spent so long trying to be something she wasn’t. All through high school, Carrie competed with other students in the music programme for the top spots, the best performances. Trying to push and shape and stretch and weave her magic into something that appeared to come so effortlessly to others. Using it to create a spectacle, a show, all sparkle and swoosh, in perfect time with the beat.

All as perfectly practiced and as artificial as her laugh, as each hair flip of her pretty pink performance hair.

But she was Trevor Wilson’s daughter, of course her magic was musical. It had to be. It was expected. It didn’t matter that when she baked, the magic just seemed to flow out her. It didn’t matter that ever since her first easy-bake oven, she’d been pulling out masterpieces that shouldn’t have even been possible with the crappy little toy. Kitchen witches were a dime a dozen. Nobody would take her seriously if she opted for something as domestic as that.

It wasn’t until the Orpheum, until Julie’s show, that it clicked. Julie, who’d lost her magic almost entirely after her mom died, who lost her music. Who found it again, came back even stronger. Who looked so right on that stage, so joyful, her three ghosts surrounding her. All three of their souls tied to their instruments, their magic weaving together like their voices. Like it was what they were meant to do.

As she stood up to clap, she made a decision.

She dropped the music programme. Hell, she dropped out of Los Feliz entirely, opting for homeschooling instead. Her dad could afford the best tutors in the country, and she still graduated with honours and a perfect GPA (she was Trevor Wilson’s daughter, after all). But instead of enrolling in any of the top music schools in the country, in the world, she went to France. She enrolled in pastry school under a different name, and the gossip magazines quickly forgot all about Carrie Wilson.

And somehow, Carrie didn’t mind. For the first time in a long while, she felt completely at home in her body, with her magic. She felt right.

And It wasn’t like she banished music from her life entirely. She loved baking with her favourite songs on, loved getting into the flow of things. She did little dance routines as she twirled around the kitchen, mixing and rolling out dough and weaving her magic into every frosting, every intricate lattice work and icing rose.

When she opened up her bakery-café, she didn’t use her dad’s name to get press. For once, she wanted her work to speak for itself. And it did. Being a rock star’s daughter, Carrie knew exactly how to run a good social media campaign. Between the perfectly Instagrammable look of her café, the picture-perfect pastries, cookies, cakes and more, and the magic woven into every bite, Bliss Bakery was soon doing well for itself.

Today was quiet, though, after the morning rush and before the lunch rush. She was putting the finishing touches on a little ghost cake (Halloween was coming up, after all), when the bell above the door jingled. “Excuse me,” a voice called. “Do you allow very well-behaved, very cute dogs inside?”

She looked up. She couldn’t see the dog, but the owner certainly was cute. Dark swoopy hair and pretty pink cheeks and a leather jacket. “How cute are we talking?” she asked, leaning on the counter.

He opened the door a little more, and on her stoop was the cutest border collie she’d ever seen. She was sitting politely, waiting for the go-ahead.

“As long as she doesn’t get drool on the display cases,” she allowed. He beamed and came in, the dog following politely, staying at his side. She really was well-behaved.

He got himself a coffee, a little ghost sugar cookie, and very carefully asked if it was okay for his dog to sit on the little bench in front of her pink neon sign. Carrie agreed, and watched as he held a mini photoshoot for the dog, beaming and showing her the perfect shot when he got it.

“Tag me if you put that on Instagram,” she said, unable to hide a smile. Not even Carrie was immune to cute dogs, or his infectious enthusiasm.

Which he did. For his half a million followers.

Which was when she realised that this cute guy wasn’t just any cute guy. He was one of Julie’s phantoms. One of the reasons she’d finally taken the leap to do what her heart desired, follow her own bliss.

The next time he came in, she had the dog-friendly cookies ready. And a coffee on the house. And her number, on a napkin.