My heart swells, and I take off in the direction of the bakery, the Pointer Sisters version of “I’m So Excited” racing through my mind. I pick up the pace. It’s nice to have so much to look forward to.
I bypass the front entrance and head a block over, making my way down the back alley. When I get there, it’s not just Miles working to get the space ready—Daniel, Kevin, and Duffy are there too.
I stop moving and stare at them. “What are you guys all doing here?”
“Crowd control,” Daniel says.
I laugh, but they don’t.
Miles, who was bending over the corn hole boards, situatingthem in a spot that’s away from the tables, stands. “Did you walk by the front?”
I frown. “No, I got the green light, and I knew you were back here, so I came straight back.”
“Come here.” Miles motions for me to follow him into the bakery. I’m expecting it to be dark, but the kitchen light is on—Lorraine, Lennon, Zoey, and Ava are all bustling around the space. The two girls I hired are also here, wiping things down, setting things up.
Lorraine sees me and grabs my to-do-in-the-morning list from the counter. She waves it at me. “Claire, is there anything else? We did all of this.” She looks at it again. “Oh, wait, did anyone get the lemon bars out?”
“I did!” Zoey spins around, and I see that she’s wearing a tray, held on by a neck strap. On it are individually packaged versions of my baked goods.
“What in the world—”
“We got the idea from old-timey cigarette girls,” Ava says. “We figure this way, we can serve more people—we’ll walk up and down the line and let people pick what they want. Then we’ll restock while someone else goes out with something different.”
“And we’ll serve the ones that aren’t individually wrapped on the Back Porch,” Zoey adds, and I love that this space Miles created for me already has its own name.
“I’m going to man the lemonade stand,” Lorraine says. “I don’t do walking.”
“And I’m going to hand out invitations to the grand opening next week.” Lennon picks up a stack of postcards and waves it at me.
“I didn’t even think you could come today,” I say. “I know you have pickleball.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, please. You’re more important than pickleball, Claire. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
And I wonder how I became important to her so quickly—though I suppose maybe it was in the same way she became so important to me. It’s like that with some people. You just instantly know they’re meant to be in your life, and you treat them like they always have been.
“I’m going to film you interacting with the people,” Zoey says. “For social media.”
“When did you all get here?” I ask. “And how did you get in?”
“Miles let us in,” Lennon says.
He holds up a key. “Swiped your extra one yesterday.”
“Thief.”
He grins.
“I don’t know what to say.” And I really don’t. I’m shocked they’re here at all. I didn’t ask them to come because they’ve already done so much for me, but I guess they’re the kind of people who don’t wait to be asked.
They’re the kind who just show up.
Haven’t had those kinds of people in a really long time.
Certainly not John and his parents. Once, when Minnie was a baby, she was colicky and wouldn’t sleep more than ten-minute increments for a solid forty-eight hours. John was on a trip, and I was exhausted and hungry and losing my mind.
I called Marilyn just to see if she might be able to relieve me for a couple of hours—sit with Minnie so I could take a nap. She told me she’d already planned a day at the spa, and this was what motherhood looked like so I’d better get used to it.
Looking around this kitchen, I’m confident that if I had a colicky baby right now, each one—or all—of these people would offer to take a shift so I could sleep, and I’d do the same for them. Without hesitation.
