5. Caden
Caden
Fia secures her hair onto the top of her head as we idle at a stoplight.
“Sorry about the wind.” I break the silence, hoping to ease the tangible tension between us. Sure, maybe I should’ve reprimanded her for falling asleep in my office—my father certainly would’ve found it a fireable offense.
But I’d never run my business like he runs his.
I glance at Fia, my eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She continues to stare straight ahead though.
“It’s easier to just keep the roof and doors off all summer because of the sand,” I add, feeling the grit from this morning’s surf beneath my shoes.
“It’s fine,” she mumbles nearly a minute later.
She then points at a little yellow house on the corner. “Just pull up there, please.”
“K,” I reply, my gut sitting in my throat.
“Thanks for the ride.” She smiles tightly, unclipping her seat belt.
The last thing I was going to do was let her run two miles in the afternoon heat to pick up her kid when it was clear she was already having a shit day.
I grip the steering wheel as a response claws at my throat.
I shouldn’t involve myself in her problems.
But I would hate to see someone like Fia be taken advantage of.
She’s a good girl.
“You live close by, right?” I ask, even toned.
She jumps out of the Jeep and turns around, green eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I do . . .”
“Let me take a look at your roof.” It comes out like a demand, and Fia crosses her arms over her chest, casting a look over the long sidewalk sprawling under broad oak trees.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she says, staring at me from the sidewalk.
I pull my sunglasses off my face. “It won’t take long.”
She hesitates, peering over her shoulder at the little yellow house.
“You’re getting scammed by whoever gave you that quote,” I say, more firmly. I don’t get why she’s being so stubborn about this. “It doesn’t hurt to get a second opinion, and I know a lot about construction.”
She bounces on her feet, expelling a huff of air. “Uhm, sure. That’s fine.”
“Text me your address, I’ll meet you there.”
“Wait—you want to look now, like today?”
I nod. “Yeah, may as well.”
Fia clasps her hands together. “Fine. I’ll text you my address.” She turns, rushing through the white picket-fence gate.
It’s actually not the first time I’ve been to her house.
Almost two years ago, I gave her a ride after our company Christmas party.
She was heavily pregnant and didn’t say a word the whole way home.
Other than our few and far between meetings at the coffee shop, that’s about the extent of our relationship.
Which is fine with me.
Boundaries are important.
You can’t be friends with your employees, not truly. Especially not a girl ten years younger than you, who is objectively attractive. It doesn’t look good, and it’s not a road I want to go down. What I can ensure is that Good Grinds is a place my employees feel safe and stable at.
Two minutes later, I park on the street in front of what I assume was once a charming house.
It now sits sad, with faded blue clapboard and overgrown bushes that need pruning.
There’s a large wreath with pink flowers hanging on the front door, and a tiny brown cat basking in the sun on a weathered rocking chair.
I know what I pay Fia. It’s good but not nearly enough for the upkeep a house like this requires.
As I step out of the car, she rounds the block pushing a stroller.
“You really don’t have to look. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do,” she says the moment I’m in earshot.
“Just show me the issue, I’m already here.” I toss my hands up.
Fia purses her lips. “Alright, fine. Follow me this way.”
I trail behind her as she deposits the stroller at the base of the porch steps and pulls her daughter from the seat.
I stand motionless, hands in pockets, trying not to stare, but two green eyes are glued to me. They don’t belong to Fia.
“This is Daisy,” she says, noticing her daughter has me locked in a stare-down. Daisy offers me a toothy smile. “She loves everyone.”
I follow Fia up to the porch, noticing how it bows under my weight. She doesn’t seem bothered as her long legs carry her to the front door.
Fia balances the toddler on her hip and searches through what looks like a bottomless bag for her keys.
I wait, glancing over to see an old gold sedan parked next to the house. The paint’s chipped and layers of dust coat the hood.
I smile tight. “Is that your car?”
“Yeah . . . I’m saving for new tires, so I don’t drive it often,” Fia responds, fumbling with a keychain full of keys.
My eyes linger back on the car, but then the baby starts to fuss, pushing against her mother’s shoulder.
“Here, let me,” I huff out and before Fia can protest, I grab the keys from her hand.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yeah, I know.” I unlock the door and push it open.
She steps inside, brushing past me and muttering a quiet thanks.
Fia walks swiftly down the hall, and something scatters past me, rubbing my ankle.
The tiny brown cat winds through Fia’s legs as she walks into an open, sunny kitchen and living room.
At the threshold, I pause, taking in the room filled with baskets of books and half-finished scarves with knitting needles still in them. I almost trip on a box with scraggly handwriting—Dog Shelter Donations.
Did she say she lives here alone?
Fia kicks a balled-up blanket out of the way and sets her daughter into a playpen. The cat jumps in with her.
Daisy immediately grabs the cat’s tail.
“Uh-uh, Daisy!” Fia clicks her tongue, lifting her eyebrows. The toddler drops it. “Hamburger, you did that to yourself, dude. You know she’s going to try to eat you if you let her.”
“Hamburger?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Fia stares at me like she’d forgot I was even there. “My cat.”
I hold my tongue. I’m here to look at her roof, not find out the backstory about her pets. She fills me in anyway.
“I found him eating a McDonald’s burger on the sidewalk six months ago.”
“So what, you just took him in?” I ask, tilting my head.
Fia’s eyes narrow like I’m a monster. “What was I going to do, let him live on the streets? He needed me.” She looks down at the cat. “Now he lives here, where he has become the meal for my daughter.”
I can’t be sure if she’s joking or not, so I move on.
Boundaries.
“I don’t want to waste your time, so why don’t you show me what’s going on.”
She glances at Daisy, then back at me. “Okay, follow me real quick.”
Halfway up the stairs, where I step over stacks of books, a laundry basket, and countless toys, she pauses, peering over her shoulder at me.
“No offense, but are you qualified to do this?” she asks, sizing me up.
“What, you think I’m just a rich pretty boy?” I reply dryly.
She sputters, face turning red, and stomps ahead.
“Yes,” I call after her, following her down the second-floor hallway. “Before Good Grinds, I was a construction manager, specializing in residential repairs. So yeah, I know what I’m looking at.”
“Huh,” is all she says before stopping in the long sunlit space. Fia throws her arms out like she’s unveiling a masterpiece. Seven metal pots line the hallway—all of them arranged under pretty extensive leaks.
Gaping holes dot the ceiling, the paint peeling back, turning brown at the edges.
“Damn,” I murmur.
“Well, you saw the papers, you know what they are saying I need done.” She gives me a pointed look.
“Can I take a look in the attic?”
As soon as Fia opens her mouth, a tiny shriek sounds from downstairs.
Fia shuts her eyes for a moment, her chest rising with a deep inhale.
“Attic access is right there.” She points to the far end of the hall. “Be careful, some of the boards are clearly rotting.”
And then she’s gone, her footsteps vanishing as Daisy lets out another wail that even makes me shudder.
Ten minutes later, I walk into the kitchen where Fia’s leaning against the counter. Daisy smiles from her high chair with applesauce in her hair. That or puke.
“So tell me, are there families of raccoons in the attic?” Fia asks, standing with her feet crossed, face tilted up.
I shake my head, confused as fuck.
“What? No?” I pull up a photo I took on my phone, showing her the rotting wood. “But the write-up they gave you is accurate.”
Her head and shoulders simultaneously sag.
“But I know people who will give you a better deal.”
“Like for $132?” she asks dryly.
“Uh, no.” I furrow my brow. “But more like twelve thousand dollars instead of nineteen.”
She is unfazed by that news. “Thanks. I appreciate you looking,” Fia mutters, blinking fast as she wipes her daughter’s face.
“I’ll send you the contact info. Tell them you’re my employee,” I reply, pulling out my phone.
“That won’t be necessary, seriously. Thanks though.” She doesn’t meet my gaze.
“Too late, already sent you it.” I shove my phone back in my pocket. “Call them. I’m serious. They’ll do a good job—”
Fia cuts me off. “Maybe I should get another opinion.”
I can’t help but scoff. “You’re not going to find a better deal, I guarantee that.”
“I read that it’s smart to get like five or six quotes.” She shrugs, dropping a few smashed blueberries onto Daisy’s tray.
I swear she just pulled that fact out of thin air.
“Sure you could. It would be a waste of time though. I’m telling you, this is the best crew in town.”
Her ceiling is literally caving in, can’t she see that? I don’t understand what is going through her head . . .
“Since when is twelve thousand dollars a good deal?” She lets out a humorless chuckle, eyes snapping to meet mine.
“And when is nineteen a good deal? Because you were about to go with that price,” I bite back.
This time Daisy glances up at me too. Same emerald-green eyes as her mother’s. Behind Fia, there’s a tall stack of mail, which looks like bills. Beside that is a drying rack full of dishes, and below it is a dishwasher that looks older than me. My chest tightens and I try one more time.
“You can’t keep a roof like that,” I say, louder than I mean to. “It’s not safe. The longer you ignore something, the worse it gets.”
Her head snaps up as color rushes into her cheeks.
“I know that, Caden.” She pinches the bridge of her nose.
“But I can’t just write a check and fix things.
I have a hundred and thirty-two dollars to my name until payday.
So yeah, a roof is important, but I need new tires for my car, food to feed my daughter.
And now that I don’t have a job, I can’t exactly afford all of them. ”
Her words hit me square in the chest. This is by far the longest conversation we’ve had since I interviewed her years ago, and as much as I want to storm out of here and get on with my day, I pause, cocking my head back.
“Wait—what do you mean you don’t have a job? Are you quitting on me?”
If she quits, then I’m royally fucked.
“No, I’m not quitting, but I’m also not naive.” She tosses her hands up in the air. “I fell asleep on the clock in your office.”
“Yeah, and?” I cross my arms. Any other employee, sure—I’d be pissed. But Fia’s not replaceable. She’s the only person I trust to run my business.
“You’re not fired,” I finally say. “Unless you want to be.”
Her shoulders drop an inch. “No,” she whispers. “I don’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t afford a roof right now. So I’d really appreciate it if you just left and didn’t mention this again.” Fia pulls her hair out of the elastic, and waves of copper tumble around her face.
“So you’re simply going to pretend the issue doesn’t exist?” I’m baffled by the logic.
“I didn’t say that. I’m still figuring it out.” She exhales, tapping her nails on the counter. “I might go to the bank tomorrow and apply for a loan—but either way, it’s not your problem to worry about.”
“What about your family, can they lend you the money?”
A bank isn’t going to give her the money, I already know that, and I think she does too with the way her voice cracked.
“This is my mess to take care of, this doesn’t concern them,” she replies with a sting.
We might have nothing in common, but I understand the part about not involving family.
“I’ll loan you the money,” I say, looking at the toddler in the high chair. “You can’t risk your own safety, or hers.”
Fia freezes, lashes blinking rapidly.
“Fia—”
“I’m not taking money from you,” she says, stepping back like I hit a nerve. She circles the island towards me, clearly done with this conversation. “Thanks for checking it out. And for letting me keep the job. I won’t fall asleep again.”
She walks to the front door, opens it, and stares at the wall, waiting for me to exit.
“Right,” I mutter, shaking my head, as if I needed another reminder about how much I suck with people. “See you Monday. You have their number if you change your mind.”
The door thuds behind me, closing inches from my back, and the porch steps creak as I leave.
Maybe I’ve crossed a line. One I shouldn’t have. But then again, if my manager doesn’t even have a safe place to live, then she certainly can’t run the most popular coffee shop in Wilmington.
Boundaries are important to me. They are essential. But this is one I have to cross to ensure everything I’ve worked for doesn’t fail.
I could let this go, let her figure it out herself.
But I know myself better than that.