Double Trouble
Fiona
The Monday morning rush gets me going for the week.
But I can’t face the start of the second one until I’ve had my third caramel latte.
Everything is where it needs to be, and it’s ten minutes before the late morning rush.
Time for that cup. The one that keeps me happy.
I sneak outside to enjoy the last few minutes before the controlled chaos begins.
Every morning, I start my day here before the sun starts to peek over the buildings with a cup of black coffee, never afraid that I’m sitting at a picnic table in an alleyway in Urbium all alone.
Protected from every terrible fear that hides in the back of my mind.
That thought gets me every time. Willow Street is a safe space.
It’s always been a safe space, even when it was a slum filled with rats and trash.
Why am I even thinking about way back then?
Because of Hope.
She was there back when I was part of the trash, though she was just a baby. It’s hard to fathom how much time has passed, but she’s almost an adult now.
Time flew by just like it will in a few minutes when the people crowd into our little bakery. Even though the deed has my name on it, it will never belong to me. I care for it so it can care for all the children yet to find Willow Street.
Hope wasn’t like me or the other kids. Her father came to help set this place up. He worked side by side with us even though his family was rich. Not like the kind of rich where you go to the grocery store and buy what you want. The kind of rich where you buy the grocery store if you want.
Her father…he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen…don’t think about him. Don’t let a man you met a handful of times over a decade ago get you all tied up in knots.
Cup three is about peace…
About beauty…
About all the good this week holds in store…
“Hi, Fea.”
What? No! She’s early. We said she would start after the rush. Definitely not before my third cup. No chaos is allowed until I finish this.
But it seems the world didn’t listen this morning. “Good morning, Hope.” I set down my cup with a sense of resignation and loss. She’s just so excited and a little nervous hanging on to her grandfather’s hand.
Am I happy that Max didn’t show? The last time I saw him, I made a fool of myself. No one needs to relive that. Though father and son probably look very similar even now, except that Max’s hair had gold threaded through the light brown to blond ringlets that always seemed to bounce around him.
His daughter inherited those, though her curls are a light blonde edging towards her grandmother’s platinum color.
“I know I’m not supposed to be here for another hour, but I thought I’d come early and watch and learn your flow a little before my training actually starts. We won’t get in your way at all.”
You’re already in my way, but with that kind of excitement and drive, how can I be upset? “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Why don’t we get the two of you something to eat—That is, if you’re staying, Mr. Vincenti.” He’s asked me to call him Talon several times, but Talon Vincenti scares me.
Not in the way bad men make me want to cower in fear…maybe it’s more like a healthy respect of all the violence hiding under the veneer of civility around him. He’s like a lion; a gentle giant one moment and ready to rip your throat out the next.
“I am.” He squeezes Hope’s hand.
The way he looks down at his granddaughter with a mixture of pride and love melts my heart. What would it feel like to be on the receiving end of that look?
It doesn’t matter what it feels like. You’ll never have a parent look at you like that.
What you have is enough. It’s more than enough.
Be happy with that. “I have to say I am impressed with your granddaughter’s plans.
There aren’t many people her age who have fully fleshed them out, including funding. ”
“My nonno and dad were both the same. Dad was sixteen when he started his company. He knew it was going to change the world.”
Max Vincenti didn’t just change the world.
He virtually conquered it. Yet his daughter isn’t a spoiled, bratty diva.
That says so much more than any news article.
“Since we’re going to cut through the kitchens, you’ll need to wear a hat or a hairnet.
” I grab two of each from the boxes by the door.
Am I really demanding that Don Vincenti wear a hairnet or a hat?
We keep the bakery spotlessly clean. And I’ve never made an exception to that rule.
Talon stares down at the offending items.
Maybe I should have today. How much hair could he lose between this door and the front of house door? Not much.
Talon plucks the hat from my hand and somehow fits his curls under it.
“I made sure my hair would fit in the hat.” Hope carefully sets the band of it around her high bun. “I’m going to need to practice more hairstyles that work with hats.”
“Most people just wear a ponytail.” Even some of the guys.
“Yours doesn’t look like a regular ponytail.”
It usually is, but for some reason this morning I got up and put on makeup and did my hair up…for me. “It’s a fishtail braid. Nothing fancy.” After washing our hands, I give them a quick tour of the back of house.
Talon listens just as raptly as Hope does, which is only sort of surprising. Curiosity must also run in the family.
The minute I get them settled at a cozy little table, the doors open and the first rush begins.
***
Hope wasn’t kidding when she said she was going to watch.
She’s even been taking notes. The rush finally starts to fade away when a man steps in the door.
He’s dressed in a suit and tie, but there isn’t a briefcase in his hand.
Something feels off about him other than the fact that I’ve never seen this man before.
A half a second later, Jacko walks in, and the hair on my neck stands up. This guy hasn’t been vetted, and the Adders sent security to watch him. Not wanting him to interact with any of the kids working, I approach him. “Hi, we’ve got a table ready for you if you’d like to follow me.”
The man doesn’t question why I pulled him out of the line. He follows me to the table right by where Jacko sat down.
This isn’t the first time a stranger has wandered in. The kids understand the protocol, but we keep it subtle. No one else but me will wait this table. “What can I get you?”
“Black coffee. Two eggs sunny-side up and two pieces of toast buttered.”
With all the exceptional pastries we serve, that order seems like a waste. “Coming right up.”
I put his order in and then wander over to check on Hope. “So, what have you learned?”
“Other than that you know every single person that has walked in here, I’ve learned the names of all the pastries you serve as well as the drinks you make. I’ve started to make lists of their components, but I haven’t gotten all of those done yet.”
The man isn’t reading a paper or focused on his phone. He’s paying just as much attention to his surroundings as Hope is, which isn’t good. Something is wrong. “We have a drink list for all our employees to memorize. I’ll grab it for you.”
“Who’s the guy?” Talon asks before I walk away.
My first instinct is to say, what guy, but insulting Talon’s intelligence would be stupid. “I don’t know.”
He nods. “Why don’t you take a picture with Hope?”
That’s not a request. “We have people on it.”
“Good. Take the picture.”
I guess I’m taking the picture.
We lean in, careful not to block the stranger with our heads.
“How common is this?”
It’s not unheard of, but it doesn’t happen often. He doesn’t want an answer like that. I shrug. “It’s covered.”
Talon raises an eyebrow at me.
What am I supposed to say? The world is filled with bad people, and the Adders do the best they can. “Let me go get those lists for you.” We bound them into a little book a while ago. It works well to help the kids study before they actually start making drinks.
The stranger’s food is ready. I drop the drink recipes on Hope’s table and deliver his food.
“Sit.” He nods towards the empty seat across from him.
Rude. Normally, I’d ignore someone who acted like that or have them thrown out. There’s something about the way he said it that has me sitting down to find out what kind of trouble he’s going to be.
Jacko raises an eyebrow at me. He knows me well enough not to be totally surprised when I do stupid things.
The stranger shakes salt and pepper on his eggs. “This place does good business.”
That’s an understatement. Even with feeding street kids for free, we make a healthy profit every day. “Yes.”
“Things appear to be well run.”
Only appear? “Yes.”
“Do you think the owner would be open to selling this place?” He precisely slices a piece of egg off and places it on the corner of his toast.
“No.” There’s something about his tone that makes me uneasy.
“You will when I’m done with you.”
He knew I was the owner. How? This place is owned by an LLC. That’s owned by another LLC. That’s held in a trust.
Don’t do it.
Don’t make this more of an issue. “You’re welcome to try. Enjoy your breakfast.” I stand up and leave with all the attitude I can muster.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid. You know better than to taunt a powerful man. Whoever he is, he’s got power.
Jacko gives me a long look. I shake my head. We need to know more about the guy who thinks he’s going to buy this place before we do anything else.
I stop over at Hope’s table.
“Nonno thinks you're brave.” Hope doesn’t even pretend that they weren’t staring at me the whole time.
“It wasn’t brave. It was stupid.”
“That, too.” She giggles.
My eyes move to Talon. He smiles at me. What does that mean? “Are you ready to get started, Hope?”
“Absolutely.” She pops up.
“Can I get you anything else, or will you be leaving?” There’s no reason for Don Vincenti to hang around any longer, yet I still find myself offering him an excuse to stay.
“One of your chocolate chip cookies would be great.” His gaze stays firmly on the stranger.
Why didn’t I have that third cup? “Coming right up.”