The alarm on Ethan’s phone went off at five-fifteen AM with a sound like a panicked duck.
Ethan sat up instantly, his head throbbing slightly from lack of sleep, his bedroom cold enough that his breath formed small white puffs in the dim morning light.
He didn't bother showering—just splashed ice-cold water on his face, pulled on two pairs of socks, a heavy dark green wool sweater, and his worn-out canvas jacket.
When he pulled his truck up to the back of the bakery at five-forty, the streetlights were still glowing yellow against the dark, foggy sky. The temperature was sitting right at thirty-four degrees, and the air smelled of wet asphalt and early morning frost.
Maya was waiting by the back door, holding two large paper cups from a twenty-four-hour gas station down the block. She was wearing a thick black beanie pulled low over her ears and a dark winter coat.
"You're early," she said, handing him one of the cups as he stepped out of the truck.
"Five-forty," Ethan said, taking a sip. The coffee was scalding, cheap, and tasted mostly of paper, but it was hot. "Told you I wouldn't be late."
"Sarah's inside packing the warm pastry boxes," Maya said, turning toward the street. "We gotta get to 4th Street before six to claim our booth spot near the fountain."
They drove through the silent, empty streets in Ethan’s rattling truck. The city was still asleep, the windows of the tall apartment buildings dark, the traffic lights blinking yellow at every intersection.
When they reached 4th Street, the road was already blocked off with orange plastic barricades. A few other vendors were unloading vans under the dim streetlamps—a guy setting up a wooden flower stand, a woman hanging colorful cloth banners from a metal frame, and two teenagers dragging heavy cooler boxes toward a cider booth.
Ethan backed the truck carefully into booth spot fourteen, right next to a stone bench near the central fountain.
"Alright," Ethan said, hopping out and unhooking the cargo straps on the bed. "Tables first."
They worked quickly in the freezing morning air. Ethan carried the heavy plastic folding tables, setting them up on the brick pavement, while Maya wiped them down with clean rags and laid out blue tablecloths.
The real trouble started when they tried to assemble the bakery's white pop-up canopy tent.
The tent frame was made of cheap accordion-style aluminum tubing that had clearly survived too many rainy street fairs.
"Hold that corner," Ethan said, grasping the metal leg while Maya pulled the opposite side out.
They expanded the frame halfway, but the central top joint gave a loud, metallic POP, and the middle plastic hub snapped clean in half, sending the entire white fabric top collapsing inward like a crushed umbrella.
Ethan stood there holding a useless aluminum pole, staring at the ruined frame. "You gotta be kidding me."
Maya dropped her corner, her breath coming out in a long white cloud. "Sarah bought that tent at a discount store three years ago. I knew it was gonna break today."
"We can't set up the pastries without a canopy," Ethan said, looking up at the grey morning sky. "If it rains, four hundred croissants are gonna turn into paste."
Maya squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples with her gloved fingers. "It's six-fifteen AM. No hardware stores are open for three hours."
Ethan looked across the street. The buildings were still dark, but he knew the layout of the record store's basement by heart.
"Wait here," Ethan said, turning toward his truck.
"Where are you going?" Maya called after him.
"I have spare conduit pipe and heavy-duty zip ties in the back of the shop," Ethan yelled over his shoulder, opening the truck door. "I'll be back in ten minutes!"
He drove the four blocks to the shop, unlocked the silent front door in the dark, ran down into the cold basement, and grabbed two four-foot lengths of thick PVC pipe and a bag of black industrial zip ties he’d saved from a sign repair job last winter.
When he returned to 4th Street at six-twenty-eight, Sarah had arrived in her small hatchback, looking utterly panicked beside the collapsed tent frame.
"Ethan!" Sarah wailed, her hands covered in flour even at this hour. "The tent is ruined! The festival inspector comes by at seven!"
"It's not ruined," Ethan said calmly, hopping out of the truck with the PVC pipe and zip ties. "It's just getting an upgrade."
He knelt down beside the broken hub, aligned the snapped aluminum tubing, fitted the thick PVC pipe over the break as a splint, and pulled six industrial zip ties around the joint as tight as they would go.
ZIP-ZIP-ZIP-ZIP.
He stood up, grabbed the center pole, and pushed upward.
The tent frame expanded smoothly, popping into place with a solid, rigid THUD.
Sarah gasped, clapping her hands together. "Oh my god! You're a genius!"
Maya stepped under the white canopy, pushing up on the reinforced PVC joint with her hand. It didn't budge an inch.
She looked out at Ethan, standing in the cold morning light with a roll of black tape in his hand and a small smudge of grey dust on his nose.
"Not bad, handyman," Maya said, her dark eyes shining with a mixture of relief and genuine respect. "Not bad at all."
Ethan wiped his nose with his sleeve, feeling the cold morning air in his lungs, and smiled. "Told you. I fix things."
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