I touched the frame as I walked past. “I got you, sis,” I whispered. “Both of you.”
The team was already inside when I unlocked the door. Three employees Zainab had hired before everything went to hell.
Shayla and JoJo were in the back, prepping dough. Both culinary school graduates. Both talented. They’d been trained on all of Zainab’s recipes before she got arrested, and they took it seriously. Like they knew they were protecting something important.
Brooke was up front, wiping down the espresso machine. She was young—maybe twenty-two—with box braids and a nose ring and the kind of customer service personality that made people want to come back.
“Morning, Mehar,” Brooke said when she saw me.
“Morning. We ready?”
“Born ready.” She grinned. “First day back. Let’s get it.”
I flipped the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN and took a breath.
This was for Zainab. For Zahara. For the little girls in that photo who deserved better than what life gave them.
The first few hours were busy. Word had spread that Sweet Zin was reopening, and people showed up. Some were regulars who’d been waiting. Some were curious after seeing the news about Zainab’s arrest. A few were clearly just there for the drama, hoping to catch some gossip.
I didn’t care why they came. As long as they bought something.
By noon, the rush had slowed down. I was behind the counter helping Brooke restock the pastry case when the bell above the door chimed.
I looked up.
And there was Thad.
He walked in like he had all the time in the world. Fresh haircut. Black Amiri jeans that fit just right, fitted black tee, white Alexander McQueens. That same gold chain catching the light.
And those eyes. Finding me immediately. Like he knew exactly where I’d be standing.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I muttered.
Brooke glanced between us. “You know him?”
“Unfortunately.”
Thad strolled up to the counter, that smirk already in place.
He glancedat the photo by the door. “That your sister?”
“Yeah. Both of them.”
“Cute.” He said it casual. Easy. Then turned back to me like it didn’t mean nothing.
“Nice spot. Cute. Very… pink.”
“Can I help you?”
“Damn. That’s how you greet customers?”
“That’s how I greet you.” He put his hand on his chest like I’d wounded him.
“Cold.”
“Are you gonna order something or just stand there?”
“Depends. What’s good?”
