1. Nolani #2
She didn’t move.
“This is unnecessary.”
Her expression changed.
“That’s what you say about everything you do for everybody else.”
My hand fell away.
A blender started behind us, filling the pause. Kareem called an order number, and a boy hurried toward the counter with both arms raised as though he’d won a prize.
Nyla took my keys and slipped them into her apron.
“I’ll send one of the afternoon employees to meet the truck.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know.”
The answer stopped me.
She wasn’t questioning whether I could.
That somehow irritated me more.
Nyla nodded toward the hallway. “Office.”
“I’m not one of your employees.”
“No. You’re my older sister by four exhausting minutes. Office.”
“You are deeply disrespectful.”
“And yet you’re following me.”
I hated when she was right with confidence.
My office sat behind the kitchen, though calling it an office had become generous.
Supplier catalogs occupied one corner of the desk.
Catering contracts covered another. A box of bookmarks waited near the door for the summer reading program, and three unopened packages of promotional materials rested beneath a chair because I hadn’t decided where else to put them.
Nyla entered behind me and closed the door.
“I know what you’re about to say.”
“Then save us both time and agree.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been avoiding being anything else.”
I stopped beside the desk. “What does that mean?”
“The shop needs you. Vendors need you. Community groups call, and you find a way to say yes. Somebody has a problem, and before they finish explaining it, you’re already halfway inside the solution.”
“We built this place to serve people.”
“We did. Together.” She pulled the guest chair away from the desk and sat. I remained standing. “Nolani, when was your last full day off?”
“I take time off.”
“When?”
“I went to Dallas in February.”
“For a hospitality conference.”
“There was a pool.”
“You sat beside it answering emails.”
“The pool was still there.”
Her face didn’t change.
I sighed and sat across from her.
Nyla leaned back. “Crème & Chill has twenty-two employees. Kareem knows how to run a shift. I know how to place an order. The patio contractor doesn’t need you standing over his shoulder.
The summer menu is finished, the reading program has a schedule, and I already hired the decorator you canceled on twice. ”
My head lifted. “You hired her?”
“I interviewed three people.”
“Without me?”
“You canceled twice.”
“I had supplier meetings.”
“You had one supplier meeting. The other afternoon, you reorganized storage.”
“It needed to be done.”
“By somebody. Not necessarily you.”
I opened my mouth and found nothing useful waiting there.
Through the narrow office window, one of our bakers carried a tray of cookies toward the cooling rack while two employees debated how much caramel belonged on a sundae. Nobody looked toward my office. Nobody appeared panicked. No one was waiting for me to rescue the morning.
Nyla watched me notice.
“I like being useful.”
“I know.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No. But you don’t know what to do with yourself when nobody needs something from you.”
The words settled harder than I wanted them to.
I looked down at the child’s drawing still resting in my hand.
Nyla didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Eventually, she reached into her purse and placed a cream-colored envelope on the desk between us.
My name was written across the front in Nana’s looping script.
“What is this?”
“You’ll have to open it.”
“You already know.”
“Obviously.”
I slid my finger beneath the flap and removed a folded card. Inside, Nana had written three lines.
The guest room is ready.
The porch misses you.
Come let somebody take care of you for a change.
Beneath the note rested a brochure for Willow Run’s annual waterfront festival. The cover showed a row of small shops facing a tree-lined street, with live music, garden tours, local art, and a weekend market spread across the center.
I read Nana’s note again.
The porch misses you.
Only that woman could make a piece of furniture sound disappointed in me.
“Nana’s trying to guilt me through architecture.”
“She knows her audience.”
“The festival is next weekend.”
“So is your trip.”
I looked up. “My what?”
“Your trip.”
“I haven’t agreed to one.”
“Your bag is already packed.”
I stared at her. “You went to my house?”
“I have a key.”
“You packed my clothes?”
“I selected options. You can make the final decision when you get home.”
“That is deeply invasive.”
“That is sisterhood.”
“That is breaking and entering with accessories.”
“You gave me the key.”
“For emergencies.”
“This qualifies.”
“According to whom?”
“Me and Nana. Unanimous vote.”
I lowered the brochure. “What about the shop?”
“I’ll run it.”
“You already handle the bakery, payroll, and staffing.”
“And you handle vendors, community partnerships, and Scoops & Stories. We’re co-owners, Noli. I know how to answer a phone.”
“The waterfront festival is going to make traffic awful.”
“You’re going to Willow Run, not crossing an international border.”
“It’s outside Self Springs.”
“Yes. Civilization has reached it.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone.”
“You’ll appreciate it from Nana’s porch.”
My attention returned to the brochure.
Willow Run sat far enough from Self Ridge to feel removed from my routine but close enough that the drive didn’t require strategy. Nana’s house rested near the edge of town, where her porch overlooked a narrow stretch of water, and evenings seemed to move at a pace Self Ridge had forgotten.
I remembered summer mornings shelling peas beside her. Afternoons reading beneath the ceiling fan. The sound of gospel songs drifting from her kitchen while she cooked enough food for neighbors who hadn’t yet decided they were visiting.
I tried to remember the last time I’d sat on that porch without reaching for my phone.
Nothing came.
Nyla’s voice softened. “Go see Nana.”
I traced my thumb across the edge of the card. “How long?”
Her expression immediately brightened. “Thursday through Monday.”
“That’s four nights.”
“It’s an extended weekend.”
“It’s captivity.”
“At Nana’s house? Please.”
“Sunday evening.”
“Monday morning.”
“Sunday.”
“Nana will have breakfast ready Monday.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve discussed logistics with her.”
“Extensively.”
“That’s conspiracy.”
“That’s family.”
We stared at each other.
“Monday after breakfast,” I said.
“Accepted.”
“You negotiated that too fast.”
“Because that’s what I wanted.”
“You’re terrible.”
“I’m effective.”
A hint of anticipation moved through me before I could examine it too closely. Not excitement exactly. More like space opening where there hadn’t been any.
Thursday evening.
Nana’s porch.
Four nights without opening the shop.
The thought should’ve bothered me more than it did.
Nyla stood and retrieved my keys from her apron.
I held out my hand.
She put them in her purse.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re going home.”
“I drove here.”
“Kareem will take you.”
“Kareem is working.”
“Kareem,” she called through the closed door.
His answer came immediately from the hallway. “I can take her.”
I stared at the door. “You were listening?”
It opened just enough for him to look inside. “These walls are thin, and y’all are loud.”
“I’m firing both of you.”
“After your vacation,” Nyla said.
Kareem nodded. “Enjoy Willow Run, boss.” He disappeared before I could respond.
I looked at my sister. “You planned an intervention.”
“I planned a break. The intervention became necessary when you volunteered to chase a dairy truck across Self Ridge.”
“That driver had been awake since four.”
“I know.”
“He looked exhausted.”
“So do you.”
The truth didn’t need anything added to it.
Nyla tapped the corner of Nana’s note. “Go see her. Sleep late. Read something you didn’t order for Scoops & Stories. Sit on the porch long enough to become irritating company.”
“I’m never irritating.”
“You’re my twin. I have documentation.”
I gathered the brochure and the little girl’s drawing from my desk, careful not to bend either. Beyond the office, someone rang the brass bell beside the register. Applause followed, then laughter.
My attention turned toward the narrow window.
For half a second, habit urged me to get up and see what had happened.
I stayed seated.
Nobody came looking for me.
Nyla noticed but, mercifully, didn’t congratulate me for it.
“All right. I’ll go.”
“I know.”
I pointed the brochure at her. “Don’t make me regret agreeing.”
“You won’t.”
“That confidence is irritating.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Liar.”
She opened the office door and stepped back into the kitchen.
I remained at my desk for another minute, studying the picture of Willow Run on the brochure. Water curved along the edge of town, blue beneath the afternoon sun, storefronts clustered along a street I hadn’t walked in years.
I expected the following weekend to give me Nana, good food, a porch, and enough distance from Crème & Chill to get Nyla off my back.
For once, that seemed like enough reason to go.