“You look cute.” Mom flips her special pancakes.
That’s the problem. Hope is going to flip out when she finds out I plan on sitting at the bakery all day today to protect her…mostly to keep an eye on those boys. “Why don’t you go put a sweater on before we go?”
Hope turns to glare at me. “We go?”
“Yes, I’m taking you to work today.”
“Dad.”
“Hope.” There’s no way she’s talking me out of this. “It isn’t safe for you to wander around without me.”
“Dad, I’m almost eighteen.”
“I don’t care if you’re almost eighty. My job is to protect you. You’re not wandering around Urbium alone.” Mom’s pancakes lay heavy in my stomach.
“Nonna?” Hope gives Mom a pleading look.
“Don’t look at me, young lady. You know I support your father’s decision.”
“What happened to feminism? A woman being able to make her own decisions?” Hope stomps over to the island next to me. “We aren’t in the eighteen hundreds.”
Mom raises an eyebrow at her. “You’ve tried that argument before.”
Hope flounces down on the stool next to me. “The other kids will make fun of me.”
I can’t hold back a snort. My little girl couldn't care in the least what people think of her.
“Dad.”
“Hope Vincenti, there isn’t an argument that you can make where I will let you wander around Urbium alone. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. End of discussion.”
Hope’s eyes sparkle.
That little imp has an argument that she thinks is going to work.
“Don’t you have an appointment this morning?”
Everett Jaymes…that boy is a thorn in my side. I’m going to make him regret it. “He can wait.”
“Being late for a business meeting is unprofessional.” She grins with glee.
Why did I have to teach her that?
“I’ll take Hope, so you don’t miss your meeting,” Dad chimes in.
“Nonno,” Hope starts to whine, but stops as Dad raises an eyebrow at her. “I’ll go get my sweater.”
As soon as she walks out of the room, Dad says, “Are you sure about this job on Willow Street?”
I set my fork down as the pancakes turn into rocks in my gut. “It’s the worst idea ever. Do you know how many teenage boys live there?”
Mom reaches across the island and sets a hand on mine. “You don’t have to worry about Hope. You didn’t raise a frivolous little girl that’s going to let any boy distract her. She’s made of sterner stuff than that. You need to trust that you raised an intelligent, independent woman.”
“She’s not the problem.”
“It’s the boys,” Dad finishes my thoughts.
Mom shakes her head. “What meeting do you have today?” She eyes my outfit, which doesn’t exactly shout high-powered businessman.
