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Dad’s eyes crinkled from amusement as he strained to suppress a smile, and I relished it because they didn’t happen often nowadays.

I took her money, banking it in the register as Dad sighed and shook his head in defeat. It was clear to him that this wasn't the first time I’d done this.

“Evie! We’re running a business here, not a charity!” he said, easing himself into the chair behind the counter. “You’re just like your mother, you know that?” The tough Dad exterior dropped, and I could see the sadness peeking through his eyes when he thought of her. “She never was able to turn anyone away…”

I gave him a kiss on the head and rested my hand on his shoulder, crouching down to meet his eyes. “Well, someone’s gotta keep you from scaring off all the customers with the grumpy man act,” I teased, smiling softly.

“Speaking of customers…” his face darkened, “Did I hear Mr. Willow's son in here earlier? Is he still giving you trouble?”

I paused, chewing my cheek as I debated about telling him the truth or not. How uncomfortable Preston had made me this morning, and how often it was happening now. But as I caught the shake of his hands, I just smiled and shook my head. He had enough to worry about, and I was not about to be added to that list.

“It’s nothing, Dad. Same stupid shit as always with him. I’ve got it handled,” I reassured him, smiling and squeezing his shoulder. “Trust me.”

“I know you think that, but maybe I could have a chat with him or his father…”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. “I can handle Preston Willows. Besides, he pays like three times the market price for fish that he probably just throws away. We need the money.”

Dad’s jaw tightened, but he didn't press the matter any further. He knew I was right. We both knew we were in no business of turning down money.

Small businesses like ours had been slowly shutting down all around the pier for years now, and the shop was barely staying afloat. It was especially difficult during the winter months. By the amount of overdue bills I’d seen earlier, I wasn’t sure how much longer we could keep this up.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with men like that,” he said quietly. “Your mother would’ve⁠—”

“Oh, Mom would have filleted him with her favorite knife,” I laughed, smiling for real this time. Grabbing one of the knives on the counter, I held it to my face, wielding it like a knight in some fantasy book. I pretended to slice through the air as if it were my enemies, and at the moment, only one came to mind.

“Don’t worry, Dad, nobody fucks with Evelyn Graymore.” We both laughed, and for a moment it felt like it did when it was just the three of us again.

A few customers trickled in and out for the rest of the morning, but sales were minimal. The familiar rhythmic sounds of the shop bell, the slam of the register, and the knife’s blade against the cutting block drummed on throughout the day. By the afternoon, the Seattle rain had started its persistent drizzle.

I wiped a cloth against the shop's front window, watching as the slow trickle of rain ran down the glass pane, turning the streets of Pike Place into a smear of muted colors.

My gaze caught on a familiar face. Eddie, a homeless veteran, was set up close to the front entrance of the shop. He was huddled under the awning, trying to escape the rain. Eddie had been in this area as long as I’d been alive. Mom had always tried to offer him a place to stay, but he always politely declined. Said he didn't want to be a burden. Dad wasn't as accommodating, but he’d let him stay under the awning during bad weather, especially on a day like this where the sting of freezing rain pierced through even the toughest of fabric.

I went to the back kitchen and grabbed him a cup of coffee—nothing fancy, just the regular stuff, but it would at least keep him warm. Pouring it into a large cup, I added my sandwich I’d packed for lunch that morning, and made my way outside.

“Hey, Eddie, take this. Get something warm in you, okay?” I said, handing him the sandwich and coffee as the drizzle slid down my rain jacket.

Eddie’s eyes brightened, and tears began to well in the corners. “Bless you, Miss Evelyn. Your mama raised you right.”

I smiled at him. “Damn right, she did.”

Dad's raucous coughing rattled from the back room as I went back inside. Every day, it sounded worse and worse. Following the sound to the bathroom, I found him bent over the sink with a bloodied rag in his hand.

“Dad–”

He quickly shoved it into his pocket, straightening up, feigning a smile. “I’m fine, Evie. It’s just the weather.”

I sighed. We both knew better.

He refused to go to the doctor, and no doctor meant no diagnosis—too steep a cost, he’d say.

“Go upstairs and call it a day,” I said, resting my hand on his back. “I can close up.”

“Evie–”

My face hardened. “Please, Dad. For me, okay? I got this.” Being stubborn was practically ingrained in my DNA. He knew when there was no use arguing against me, but it was pretty obvious where I’d gotten that trait from.

“Just be careful. Don’t—” He nodded as a coughing fit began to crest, stealing his words, and waving himself away.