Chapter 37
I made this.
A week later, I’m sitting alone in the bakery. I look around at this thing I created. With the help of my friends.
It’s the morning of my grand opening—early, the calm before the storm. I’ve baked all the treats, stocked the display cases,
swept the floor three times, folded aprons and towels and T-shirts with The Porch logo on them in our little retail corner,
and now I’m going to take a moment to appreciate where I am . . . and all the things that got me here.
Before he went back to Colorado, John stopped by the space. After giving me a list of things I needed to think about or change,
he looked at me, almost like he was seeing me for the first time. Or at least the first time in a long time.
“You’re . . . different,” he’d said.
I thought about all the reasons why I’m different, and I smiled. “I know.”
He nodded, studying me for a second, and then his phone rang, and when he stepped outside to explain to Misty why he wasn’t
on his way to the airport yet, I went back into the kitchen and let out a relieved breath.
Because I don’t care about that either.
My new world? Filled with my new people?
In a word—sweet.
Lennon brought Eve by three different times this week, and while she never stayed long, she always made it clear she’s in my corner.
Lorraine interviewed me for her YouTube channel, which I took very seriously now that I know how influential she is, but also just because she is delightful, and I’m lucky to know her.
And Miles? He’s been an ever-present constant in the chaos.
Every morning before work, he walks me to the bakery. We pick up coffee, and I thank him in baked goods and brief make-out
sessions in the pantry, hidden away from the eyes of the employees who started this week.
And after work every night this week, he’s picked up or made dinner, rubbed my shoulders, and kissed me senseless, though
not always in that order. Tuesday, the kissing started the second he walked in the door.
I’ve wondered if I could cross out number seven on my list and count kissing him as my new hobby.
On Wednesday evening, Miles drove me to O’Hare where we were yelled at three different times by security because “You’re not
allowed to park here! Move on out or I’m gonna have you towed!”
“My daughter’s coming home!” I yelled back as Miles dutifully vacated the curb.
When I saw Minnie walk out of the terminal, I rolled the window down and started yelling for her. Miles rolled his window
down too, then blasted “Take a Chance on Me” through the speakers as he pulled over and put the car in Park.
I grabbed onto my beautiful daughter and pulled her into the biggest, tightest hug, and after a long minute of that, she started
shaking her hips and dancing just like she did when she was little. ABBA hit the chorus, and we both shout-sang the words
at the top of our lungs.
And the pieces of my world fell back into place.
The security guard started blowing her whistle, so Miles jumped out and grabbed Minnie’s bags. He stuffed them in the trunk,
and we all piled back into the car, laughing and singing and honking as we drove off.
It was one of the happiest moments of my life.
I’ve made a point to pay attention to those moments, thankful to have so many to discover.
Minnie and Miles chatted the entire way into the city. We met Zoey, Ava, and Kevin for dinner, then all headed back to The
Bexley to sit in the courtyard, drinking wine and catching up. Minnie, Zoey, and Ava were instant friends, and even though
they connected by swapping embarrassing stories about their parents, I couldn’t have been happier.
Miles and I sat at the table holding hands, both of us smiling at the scene unfolding in front of us, and I wondered—not for
the first time—how I got to be so lucky.
Scratch that. It wasn’t luck that brought me here at all.
In fact, it was the opposite.
And yet, here I am . . . thriving.
I finish off my coffee and stand, ready to get to work as Minnie and Miles arrive through the back door. They’re deep in debate
about which is better—Attack on Titan or Avatar, neither of which I’ve seen. They both grab aprons from a hook in the pantry and tie them on as Zoey and Ava enter talking
about a particular episode of Only Murders in the Building.
I’m standing off to the side, thinking that these moments—the mundane, ordinary, sweet moments—are just as special to me as
the big ones, like the grand opening of my bakery.
There’s a line gathering outside, and I know better than to assume every day will be like this—I’m just happy that today is.
I even recognize a few of the people from the sample day, and I suppose this is how customers become loyal.
Last night, Minnie and I wrote conversation starters on paper cups, and I can’t wait until this place is filled with chatter.
Connection.
I walk out into the bakery, smiling at the hand-lettered menu board behind the counter and the sign with my motto—Sit, sip, and stay awhile—above it. I flip on the white twinkle lights and give the whole space one last quick look. Minnie and Ava brought tables out
onto the sidewalk a few minutes ago, so there’s just one thing left to do.
Like my heart, I flip over the sign in the door.
It says “Open.”