Chapter 3
DEVON
Two hours later, we make it home and I head straight for the shower to wash off the stink of the day and the lingering unease from my slowly depleting hangover.
Confronting my mother about the letter didn’t feel right in the bakery, but I have to talk to her about it.
My parents have devoted their entire lives to the bakery, following in my grandparents' footsteps.
Even though I moved out of state for a few years, I did my best to stay up to date on all the shows they attended and the awards they won.
I can’t fathom how we’re behind on rent for that place given how long the bakery has stood there.
I replay the letter over and over in my head while washing my hair, but the moment I touch my neck, I’m distracted.
Flashes of the man from last night burst into my mind, specifically, his lips against my neck.
With the hot water pouring down over me and the steam closing out the world, I let my mind wander just for a few seconds.
He was so hot.
The kind of hot that exists only in magazines, and I was certain his interest in me was some kind of joke at first.
But on top of being sexy as hell, he was kind and sweet.
I’ve never done anything like that before, but just thinking about him pressing me up against the wall gets my pulse racing and my core throbbing.
It has to be because I’ve not slept with anyone since I left L.A.
There’s no other explanation for how fast he turned me on or how quickly I came just from penetration.
The more I think about him, the more I remember little details like the warmth in his small, gentle smile and how tender his lips were against my ear.
His arm around my waist, keeping me balanced, and the tender circles his thumb stroked on my hip as if he wanted to comfort me while fucking me.
That has to be wishful thinking. Who comforts a stranger—
“Devon?” Knocking on the bathroom door drags me out of my thoughts. “Do you want any dinner?” Mom asks.
“Yes!” I call through the water. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
“Take your time.”
I turn my face into the spray and sigh internally, shaking my thoughts free of that man.
I’ll never see him again, and I can’t afford to dwell on something that happened when we were both drunk.
Finishing my shower, I dry off and dress in an oversized T-shirt and some jogging pants, then head down to the kitchen which radiates the most mouthwatering smell.
Dad stands at the stove, lazily stirring a pot of bubbling soup while Mom cuts up a loaf into chunks at the opposite counter.
“Good shower?” Dad glances over his shoulder and smiles at me, making his mustache wiggle.
“It was amazing. The water pressure here is so much better than in L.A.”
“Is that the real reason you moved back home?” Mom teases.
Rolling my eyes, I edge past the dining table. “Anything I can do to help?”
“No, you just sit down.” Dad points at the chair. “Did you have a nice night last night?”
His question carries a silent weight that makes my parents glance at each other while they wait for my answer.
I know what they want to hear.
They want me to tell them I went out, got drunk, and made a bunch of friends.
That I’ve magically fixed myself and my life by gaining a new perspective on everything.
I wish I could tell them that.
I wish I could tell them I was going to be okay, but that lie turns to ash in my mouth every time I say it, and I know they never believe me.
“It was fun. I went to a couple of bars.” One.
“That’s good!” Mom beams at me as she sets the plate of bread down in the middle of the table. “Getting out of your comfort zone is a huge step.”
“Mmhmm.” Picking up a chunk of bread, I move it back and forth between my fingers. “Did you two enjoy date night?”
Getting out of their hair for date night was the only reason I ended up at a bar last night.
The drinks were to calm my nerves in the beginning.
Never saw them calming me right into some guy’s pants.
“It was lovely,” Dad says as he carefully ladles soup into a bowl and sets it in front of me. “Eat up.”
Abandoning the bread, I pick up my spoon, but my stomach’s still so raw from the alcohol that the thought of eating fills me with an odd wariness.
It’s the same dread I’d get each night I came home from my old accounting job to face my ex, a wary understanding that something was wrong before I even walked through the door.
“It’s chicken noodle,” Dad says as he dishes up the soup for him and Mom. “Homemade.”
“The best kind.” Smiling, I cross my ankles and focus on the soup while Dad sits.
An amicable silence falls over the table as we eat silently, switching from soup to bread and back.
But my mind doesn’t stay quiet.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?” She glances up from her phone which she’s set next to her soup bowl.
“I saw the letter.”
“Which letter?”
Dad pauses eating and glances between the two of us. “Yeah, what letter?”
“From the lawyer.”
Lowering my spoon into my barely eaten soup, I rest my elbows on the table. “In your purse. I didn’t mean to look, I’m sorry. But…” Sighing softly, I dive right in. “Why didn’t you tell me you were behind on rent?”
“Oh.” Dad’s mustache trembles and he stares down at his soup.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Mom says with a wide smile. “I don’t want you to fret.”
“I am going to worry, Mom. When I found out that Silver Canopy was buying up everything on the block, you told me not to worry, but I researched them and I saw their plans. I saw how they bully businesses, especially smaller ones, and how they always get their way. I’ve been working with your finances to fight all the threats they’ve been sending, but I saw nothing in the documents you gave me to suggest that you have money problems.”
“Devon, we don’t have money problems,” Dad says, and he looks as if he’s going to say more, but a look from Mom silences him.
“You have to tell me the truth. I thought you owned the bakery outright?”
“Devon, after everything you were going through with—”
“Please don’t say his name,” I cut in quickly.
Mom nods. “We didn’t want to put more stress on you. When you turned up on our doorstep six months ago, I barely recognized you. It was like all the light was gone from you. How could I in good conscience tell you we had some troubles?”
“You asked me to help you. Did you think I would never find out?”
“Honestly,” Dad says gruffly, “we thought we could get you back on your feet and back out into the world before it became a serious problem.”
“You’re four months behind on rent. Why are you still even paying rent?”
Mom lowers her spoon. “We always planned to buy the land rights,” she says, “but we just never got around to it. And we’d been there for so long that we thought it wouldn’t matter.”
In some cases it wouldn’t matter, given how long the bakery has stood there and been in the family since my grandparents, but companies like Silver Canopy don’t care.
They bulldoze and pressure and undermine until people are forced to sell because there’s no other choice.
“But we make good money. The bakery is always bringing in a lot of money, and your award winnings from the summer fete and all the shows you cater… How is this happening? Is this why we don’t have deliveries anymore? Are you paying out of your own pocket?”
My parents exchange a look and then Mom sighs.
“Our supplier just couldn’t work with us anymore. I don’t know why, but I think Silver Canopy did something. Then they quadrupled the rent,” she says flatly. “It was so much that we missed the rent payments as we can no longer afford them outright.”
“What? They can’t do that!”
“They can,” Dad says. “We spoke to our lawyer. Something about our presence and how the empty block is detrimental to ownership. When silver Canopy bought up the land rights five years ago, they didn’t care to honor any legacies, but we didn’t think it would be a problem.
Now, it’s basically a punishment for not selling.
They raise the rent until we can’t afford to survive. ”
Four times an increase?
That’s sickening.
Squinting, I calculate from what I remember from last month's earnings. “So you stopped paying completely?”
Mom nods. “We’re in the process of remortgaging the house to pay what we owe and then…”
She glances at Dad, and they share a sad smile. “Then I don’t know. Maybe we will have to listen to an offer from Canopy.”
“No.” The word cuts out of me like the snap of a whip. “No, this can’t happen. That building has stood for so long and we’ve had a cultural impact, never mind the fact that they can’t force you out by making the rent so high. No, I won’t let this happen.”
Mom reaches across the table and briefly pats my knuckles before I retract my hand.
“There’s nothing you can do, sweetie.”
“Yes, there is. I can do a full evaluation of your assets and finances, and of the business, including what was left by Grandma and Grandpa. On top of that, I know they’ll be trying to pull something over on you thinking you’ll roll over without looking deeper.”
“It’s sweet that you want to help,” Mom says, “but we’ve tried. If this is the end, then—”
“No!” I don’t mean to snap, but the fact that she’s considering this makes my heart ache.
I came home for comfort and safety.
I’m not letting some shitty corporation steamroll over the only important things I have left in my life. “I’ll fix this.”
“Devon—” Dad tries, but I silence him with a look.
“No. I’m a better accountant than I am a baker, so I’m going to look over everything, okay? I’m going to fix this, but you have to be truthful about everything. And whatever you’re doing to remortgage the house? That stops until I say so, okay?”
“Okay,” Mom sighs, shrugging and leaning back in her chair. “If it will make you feel better.”
She makes it sound like she’s doing me a favor, but I need to exhaust all my options.
“Trust me,” I say as I tear into a piece of bread. “Trying to force you out is the biggest mistake Silver Canopy will ever make.”