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THE TWENTY-SIXTH

Annabeth stands back to admire her handiwork, and I can’t help but clap my hands like a kid. With the addition of each work of art, the walls have come to life, the different shades of grey providing the perfect foil for the bright drawings and paintings. Next to each frame is a white card with the name of the artist and title of the artwork, along with a brief description and a price.

The partition between the shops is now down, and James’s guys are cleaning up the mess they made. Both the bakery and café are filled with the delicious aroma of cookies that has wafted through from the kitchen. Mum has been running around like a headless chicken all day, moving things from one place to another and then back to their original position, and it is driving me nuts. “Mum, stop,” I command. “It all looks amazing. Plus once people have been through here, we are going to have to tidy it all up again anyway.” Mum lets out a soft grumble about just wanting to make it perfect, but I know she rea
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