Kelly Swanson
12
Happily Ever After
M
r. Bean’s Baked Goods remained a reputable fixture of Prides Hollow for years, until the black awning faded to gray and the letter B wandered off the sign, leaving
“Mr. Bean’s aked Goods.” I’m pretty sure nobody even noticed. His tiny shop bell rung daily for years with a steady stream of patrons until Mr. Bean grew old and gray and kept mixing up the sugar and salt—though people pretended not to notice.
One evening Mr. Bean put the Closed sign on the door and never turned it back over. When Mr. Bean died, everyone came to his service. People stayed late into the night sharing sugar-coated memories of Mr. Bean. Booker Diggs said he couldn’t imagine spending another birthday without his gluten-free chocolate éclair. Ima Jean told the story of the time Mr. Bean drove three hours to deliver her daughter’s wedding cake, making sure not to go above 20 miles an hour so he wouldn’t mess it up. Old Widow Jenkins told the story of how every Sunday morning she would come in for a fresh blueberry muffin before church. When she broke her hip and couldn’t go to church anymore, Mr. Bean delivered her muffin to her house. He even stayed and listened to the online sermon with her. Good man, that Mr. Bean. They all agreed. Mr. Bean had learned how to sell his Healthy Cake from his mentor. He learned about building trust and rapport. He learned how to stop focusing on what he wanted
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