Not Enough Caffeine
Fiona
Why did this have to happen before my third cup?
It’s probably ice cold with all the lovely foam melting away back on the picnic table.
Such a waste. There was a point in my life that walking away from any food would have been an unimaginable loss for a completely different reason.
A point in time where a meal was worth more than anything I owned.
For some of the kids here, it still is.
And now there’s a man threatening what we built.
The crazy man, who thinks he’s going to buy my bakery, is sitting in it methodically eating his breakfast like just his presence alone will make it so.
Years ago, a man like him would have filled me with terror even with Jacko sitting right there ready to protect me.
Now all I want to do is throw him out of my bakery and away from these kids.
That sounds kind and reasonable. I feel anything but reasonable and kind. I want to take that butter knife he placed carefully on the top of his plate and practice knife throwing with him as the target. Stabbing him would be good too. Though I might get dirty.
Instead of doing either of those things, I walk over to him and say, “Can I get you anything else?”
“Sit.”
I hate that my body does what he says. After all the years of therapy, I shouldn’t do things out of instinctual fear, and today it’s happened twice.
Do I even want to know what my therapist is going to say about this behavior? Probably not, and I’ve been doing so well for the last few years.
Stop worrying about the past. The present is sitting right in front of you, not getting stabbed.
“This is what I’m willing to pay for this little place you have.” The obnoxious man slides a piece of paper across the table. “Each week that you wait, I’ll knock fifty grand off the total.”
I ignore the paper. “It’s not for sale.”
“Everything has a price.” He looks me up and down and licks his lips.
How does he know I was a prosti—He can’t. It isn’t tattooed on your forehead. My hip starts to burn.
Don’t let this guy get into your head. This man only has power over you if you let him.
You’re in control.
This is your home. These are your kids.
You aren’t helpless.
I push the paper back to him. “No one around here has a price. I suggest you leave.”
Even his laugh feels evil. “Good. I hoped you’d say that. Breaking the feisty ones is my favorite thing.”
He didn’t just say that. Stabbing him would definitely be too kind. Luisella taught me a few more tricks this guy wouldn’t enjoy. I stand up. “It’s time for you to leave.”
The man sets his napkin on his plate. “Until we meet again.” He stands up, moving way too close to me. “I look forward to the game we’re going to play. But I should warn you, I always win.” He leans forward as he says the last word.
My hand moves to the dirty knife.
Jacko catches my eye and shakes his head. “Let’s go.”
The man looks between Jacko and me. “That’s why you were so brave. He won’t always be here to protect you, little one.”
My skin hasn’t crawled like this since the last time I sold my bo—
“Are you okay?” Hope asks.
No, I’m not, but I have to pretend that I am long enough to get rid of her. “Just fine.” I need to take a shower more than I need to breathe. My therapist would call this a self-destructive coping mechanism, but I don’t care.
First, I need to get rid of Hope and her grandfather’s piercing gaze.
How do I do that? The handbook. I’ll send her home to study the handbook and quickly go over security protocols like today was supposed to be a short orientation day instead of the full day of training that I had planned for her. “Let’s head back to the picnic tables and get your orientation done.”
Hope tips her head at me but follows me. Her grandfather stays right with us.
Great. Wonderful. Stupendous. Just what I wanted today, Don Vincenti hovering over me judging my every action.
Can he see?
He doesn’t. No one does.
Get the job done, and then you can fall apart.
Someone took my coffee.
I reach over and scratch my still-burning hip even though I know it’s all in my head.
Soon. You can shower and feel clean soon.
Once we’re all seated, I start in on security protocols.
“Security around Willow Street is tight. What you saw today almost never happens. The last time it did was around five or six years ago. And just like today, the stranger was escorted by security the entire time he was in the neighborhood. So what you should do if you see a stranger is ignore them. If a stranger walks into the restaurant, another adult or I will wait on them. If they come up to you, security will intervene, or you say, ‘hold on, I need to get my manager’. There are other safety measures such as shelter in place, full lockdown, and safe zones—”
“I have a question.” Of course, it’s Don Vincenti who has the question. Hope is quietly taking notes.
“What would you like to know?”
“Why you?”
Huh? “I don’t understand the question.”
“Why do you approach strange men who could potentially harm you? You’re no bigger than a child. That man could have done some serious damage before Jacko was able to intervene. No woman should be put in a situation like that. I need to talk to Maddox.”
It took years to convince Maddox that several of us could hold our own. Dyce’s skills helped significantly. “We aren’t victims.” Even though I feel like one right now.
Talon’s eyes narrow. “Why haven’t you been to my home for Sunday dinners?”
Huh? And they talk about women changing topics without warning. Because you aren’t my family, and pretending you are because Emilia started this place seems weird. “I have a lot of work to do.”
Talon’s only response is lifting an eyebrow at me.
There are dozens of excuses that I’ve come up with over the years. Daria feeling uncomfortable in groups. Work. More work. The ‘I need to wash my hair’ excuse was a little obvious. But eventually Emilia stopped pushing.
Talon’s phone chimes. “Invite your boss to dinner while I take this call.” He walks far enough away to have a clear view of us, but out of earshot.
“My nonna is an amazing cook.” Hope smiles expectantly at me.
“Nonna?”
“Oh right, you don’t speak Italian.”
No, I don’t, though I do speak a fair bit of Russian. The man who owned—It’s over. No man will have that control of me again. The crawling sensation fights its way out of the box I shoved it in. “No, I don’t.”
“Nonna means grandmother and bisnonna means great-grandmother.”
“Emilia.” It’s hard to think the two women are related even though I’ve known this forever.
Emilia looks nothing like Hope. Emilia would look petite standing next to Hope, even though Emilia is several inches taller than I am.
But it’s Hope’s platinum blonde ringlets and golden skin that sets the two of them so far apart.
There might be a slight resemblance in the nose.
“Exactly. Nonno means grandfather. And that has to be my favorite word not just because Nonno is the best, but because no one tells my grandfather no. It always felt like I was getting to do something illicit by saying nonno to him. I digress.”
Not many kids her age switch languages and use words like digress.
“You should come to Sunday dinner.”
“As I told your grandfather, I have a lot of work to do.”
“Do you know why my grandfather asked me to ask you?”
He thought guilt might work? “No. Why?”
“Because I’m like my great-grandmother. When I want something, I figure out a way to get what I want.”
That doesn’t sound at all threatening.
“Hope, we need to go.” Talon walks right past us and onto the street without stopping.
“Gotta go.” She waves without hesitating or a single word of backtalk.
That made my life easier. Now I can go shower.
You should really go back and work, or call your therapist. Either of those would be mentally better for me.
I head back to my apartment, stripping my clothes off the second the apartment door closes behind me as I walk to the shower.
Once I’m clean…