He wipes flour off his forehead, looks at the empty racks, then at me.
“Good rush, boss,” he says, breathless.
I nod.
Cleanup is quiet, but it is a good quiet. The kind that comes after work that mattered. After the effort that earned its exhaustion. We break down tables, fold the tent, and load racks into the van.
I drive. Gwen takes the passenger seat. Leo climbs into the cargo bay and sits on a milk crate without complaint, folding himself smaller than he needs to be.
A month ago, he would have offered to drive.
Would have insisted.
Would have tried to optimize the process.
Now he just lets it be.
Gwen stays quiet for five minutes. Then she cracks.
“So,” she says carefully. “Remember what we talked about last week. That lawyer. Alana. She for real?”
“Yes,” I say, eyes on the road. “I am having my lawyer look at everything tonight.”
She twists around to stare at Leo. “A co-op? You gave her the bakery?”
“He gave us the bakery,” I correct. “You’re a junior partner. Thirty percent.”
Her mouth falls open.
“And the foundation,” I add, because it matters. “The money’s there. For the program.”
She looks between us, stunned. “You did that?”
Leo meets her eyes in the mirror. “I put it where it belongs.”
That’s all he says.
No pride.
No pitch.
No,look at me now, energy.
We unload in silence. Teamwork. Muscle memory. By the time the back door closes, it’s almost nine.
Gwen slings her bag over her shoulder and looks at me. Really looks at me.
“See you Monday, boss?”
“Yes,” I say. “See you Monday.”
She nods, then turns to Leo. “You’re good at boxes, Ashford. Don’t mess this up.”
“I’m trying not to,” he says.
She leaves. The deadbolt clicks.
Silence.
