“She might be worth giving it all up for.” Everett stares in the direction she left.
Spare me the theatrics of young fools.
“Wait.” He slowly turns his head towards me. “She said Max. You’re not—You’re the—You’re my new boss.”
“Not yet.” I chuck a phone over to him. “The interview is only starting. Maddox said you like phones. See what you can do with that. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Finding cookies and trying to figure out how I’m going to spy on my own daughter for the next few months. Why did she have to grow up?
Double Trouble
Fiona
The Monday morning rush gets me going for the week. But I can’t face the start of the second one until I’ve had my third caramel latte. Everything is where it needs to be, and it’s ten minutes before the late morning rush. Time for that cup. The one that keeps me happy. I sneak outside to enjoy the last few minutes before the controlled chaos begins.
Every morning, I start my day here before the sun starts to peek over the buildings with a cup of black coffee, never afraid that I’m sitting at a picnic table in an alleyway in Urbium all alone. Protected from every terrible fear that hides in the back of my mind. That thought gets me every time. Willow Street is a safe space. It’s always been a safe space, even when it was a slum filled with rats and trash.
Why am I even thinking about way back then?
Because of Hope.
She was there back when I was part of the trash, though she was just a baby. It’s hard to fathom how much time has passed, but she’s almost an adult now.
Time flew by just like it will in a few minutes when the people crowd into our little bakery. Even though the deed has my name on it, it will never belong to me. I care for it so it can care for all the children yet to find Willow Street.
Hope wasn’t like me or the other kids. Her father came to help set this place up. He worked side by side with us eventhough his family was rich. Not like the kind of rich where you go to the grocery store and buy what you want. The kind of rich where you buy the grocery store if you want.
Her father…he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen…don’t think about him. Don’t let a man you met a handful of times over a decade ago get you all tied up in knots.
Cup three is about peace…
About beauty…
About all the good this week holds in store…
“Hi, Fea.”
What? No! She’s early. We said she would start after the rush. Definitely not before my third cup. No chaos is allowed until I finish this.
But it seems the world didn’t listen this morning. “Good morning, Hope.” I set down my cup with a sense of resignation and loss. She’s just so excited and a little nervous hanging on to her grandfather’s hand.
Am I happy that Max didn’t show? The last time I saw him, I made a fool of myself. No one needs to relive that. Though father and son probably look very similar even now, except that Max’s hair had gold threaded through the light brown to blond ringlets that always seemed to bounce around him.
His daughter inherited those, though her curls are a light blonde edging towards her grandmother’s platinum color.
“I know I’m not supposed to be here for another hour, but I thought I’d come early and watch and learn your flow a little before my training actually starts. We won’t get in your way at all.”
You’re already in my way, but with that kind of excitement and drive, how can I be upset? “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Why don’t we get the two of you something to eat—That is, if you’re staying, Mr. Vincenti.” He’s asked me to call him Talon several times, but Talon Vincenti scares me.
Not in the way bad men make me want to cower in fear…maybe it’s more like a healthy respect of all the violence hiding under the veneer of civility around him. He’s like a lion; a gentle giant one moment and ready to rip your throat out the next.
“I am.” He squeezes Hope’s hand.
The way he looks down at his granddaughter with a mixture of pride and love melts my heart. What would it feel like to be on the receiving end of that look?
It doesn’t matter what it feels like. You’ll never have a parent look at you like that. What you have is enough. It’s more than enough. Be happy with that. “I have to say I am impressed with your granddaughter’s plans. There aren’t many people her age who have fully fleshed them out, including funding.”
“My nonno and dad were both the same. Dad was sixteen when he started his company. He knew it was going to change the world.”
Max Vincenti didn’t just change the world. He virtually conquered it. Yet his daughter isn’t a spoiled, bratty diva. That says so much more than any news article. “Since we’re going to cut through the kitchens, you’ll need to wear a hat or a hairnet.” I grab two of each from the boxes by the door. Am I really demanding that Don Vincenti wear a hairnet or a hat? We keep the bakery spotlessly clean. And I’ve never made an exception to that rule.
