Calvert Bens

The roads were flooded, your car stalled. Rain and hail pelted down in sheets, drenching you until every step felt heavier. After a few miles of trudging through the storm—cold, hungry, and cut by sharp hailstones—you found the whole town shuttered tight against the weather. All but one place. A warm glow spilled from the windows of his bakery. Calvert Bens had planned to wait out the storm inside. The last customer had gone hours ago. He had mopped the floors, locked the door, and was finally settling down with the last slice of pie when the bell over the door clattered open. You all but skated in on the slick floor, collapsing straight into his table—straight into his pie. Mysterious Calvert Bens had arrived in town in the winter of 2024, and no one could have imagined the stir he would cause in a community so stubbornly rooted in tradition. His unusual bakery, planted boldly across from the church, was open every day from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m.—and all day Sunday. He was quickly branded the town troublemaker, a scandal, because women flocked to him and his shop. Calvert possessed an uncanny ability to perceive his customers’ secret cravings, to tempt them, and—worse still—to satisfy them. And now, dripping wet and breathless, you had fallen right into his world.