Pancakes & Possibilities

*The Exit Strategy*

At 54, Priscilla Simon knew the walls of her high-rise tech office better than her own living room. Sleek chrome desks, the endless hum of processors, and innovation that never slept—none of it stirred her anymore. When the firm announced it was shutting down due to a quiet acquisition, most of her coworkers panicked. Priscilla? She smirked, logged off, and poured herself a glass of the good cabernet she’d been saving since her 50th birthday.

She’d been planning this for two years. She had no children to consider, her 401k was healthy, and with the unexpected windfall from her settlement, she could retire comfortably—and earlier than planned.

Her hometown of Tyler Oaks, three states away, had always whispered to her heart. A city, steeped in ‘60s soul and new-age flair, it had everything she missed: her brother Lawrence, Saturday fish fries, and that strange little antique store with an uncanny memory for faces.

*Return to Tyler Oaks*

The drive home was filled with Motown, gospel classics, and laughter from old voicemails of Lawrence. When she rolled into Tyler Oaks, she was greeted by a town that had matured like fine wine—modern murals on brick walls, jazz cafes next to vegan soul food spots, and of course, Mama Dee’s Church of the Faithful Grill, which wasn’t a church at all but a BBQ joint housed in an old chapel.

Lawrence met her with a bear hug and a tear-soaked smile.

“You finally done with them computers and nonsense, huh?” he said, already piling her bags into his car.

She smiled. “I’m making pancakes now.”

“You still on them crazy pancakes?” he laughed. “Girl, people just want regular flapjacks, not lavender-mint experiments.”

“Just wait,” she winked. “You’ll be converted.”

*Flipping Traditions*

With Lawrence’s help and a little backing from a curious city grant (encouraged by her homemade buttermilk peach rum pancake she submitted with the application), Priscilla’s Pancake Parlor was born in the shell of a retro diner.

Every Saturday, the family helped. Nieces painted murals. Cousins cleaned and tested recipes. Lawrence brought in old vinyl records. It was a labor of love—but not without strange interruptions.

Like the woman in red who walked past every Thursday, stared into the window, and never came in.

Or the anonymous note Priscilla found tucked into a recipe book, reading: “Keep your pancakes sweet, but your eyes open.”

And the sealed letter left behind in the kitchen’s back pantry, addressed to her grandmother… who’d never worked at the diner, as far as she knew.

*Romance & Rumors*

Then there was Miles Carter, the charming city food inspector who seemed to show up more for pancakes than for permits. A widower with a soft spot for syrup and stories, he kept “randomly” checking in.

“Priscilla, if this lavender thing is illegal, I’ll need a taste to confirm,” he joked one afternoon.

But Priscilla wasn’t quick to flirt—until he started telling stories of her grandmother, whom he’d known as a child. “She used to sneak in through the back and cook ‘healing pancakes’ for folks too sick to afford the hospital.”

A mystery unfurled—why would a respected woman need to sneak pancakes? And why was her face painted on the back of the mural her niece had just finished?

*Family Secrets & Syrup Codes*

As the parlor’s popularity grew, Priscilla started digging deeper. With her family’s help—and Miles’ subtle encouragement—she uncovered a long-lost tradition: pancakes used to signal secret messages during civil rights movements. Her grandmother had used her “flavors” as codes, ingredients as instructions, dishes as directions.

And now, someone was trying to rekindle that tradition…or stop it.

When the parlor was broken into, only one thing was taken: the original recipe book. But Priscilla wasn’t deterred. With the help of her family, a blossoming romance, and a few “midnight pancake raids,” she planned to reclaim her legacy—and maybe even take it national.