Gwen storms toward the door, muttering curses like a prayer. We follow, Leo with a spring in his step, me trying not to laugh because I’m the boss and bosses are supposed to be dignified.
At the community center front desk, a glass bowl waits, filled with folded slips of paper. A cheap printed sign reads: ICE HOCKEY TRY-OUT: ADD NAME HERE.
Gwen stands in front of it like it’s a guillotine. “I hate this,” she announces.
Leo leans on the counter. “Write your name.”
Gwen glares at him. “You know I can’t skate.”
Leo nods solemnly. “That’s why it’s fun.”
Gwen stabs the pen onto the paper like she’s signing a confession. She writes GWEN GRETZKY in all caps and shoves it into the bowl. The paper flutters down.
She turns on Leo. “Happy?”
Leo beams. “Ecstatic.”
Gwen points at him. “If I break my ankle, I’m suing you.”
Leo nods. “Fair.”
Gwen turns to me. “And you’re paying her legal fees.”
“I will pay her legal fees in cinnamon rolls,” I say.
Gwen groans. “This is my life.”
Leo says cheerfully, “It’s character development.”
Gwen stares at him. “You’re character development.”
Leo smiles. “Thank you.”
Gwen throws her hands up and storms out. I watch her go, affection swelling in my chest. Gwen, who’s been with me through every ugly, hard, lonely step. Gwen, who would rather die than admit she cares, but cares anyway.
Leo watches her too, then turns to me quietly. “You remember my friend Zane, right? He is on the Grizzlies team. I’m totally getting her on the ice,” he laughs.
“No way. She will kill you!” I tell him, making him laugh harder.
“She’ll be fine. It’ll be fun,” he smiles.
We walk back to the bakery side by side, the afternoon sun warm on our faces.
Inside, the kitchen is a mess again, flour everywhere, bowls stacked, butter smears on the stainless steel. Proof of work.
Leo looks at the chaos like it’s a gift. “What’s next?” he asks.
I tilt my head. “Cleaning.”
He nods immediately. “Yes, boss.”
Gwen’s going to hate it, but I can’t help it. I smile.
That night, after the apprentices are gone, the ovens off, and the training kitchen finally quiet, I sit on the floor against the cabinets, eating a cinnamon roll with my fingers because plates feel too formal for this kind of tired.
Leo sits beside me, knees pulled up, his shoulder barely touching mine.
“Do you think Gwen will actually show up to the ice-skating thing?” he asks, voice careful, like he’s still not sure how much teasing is allowed.
