He doesn’t respond. His silence is effective. Maybe because I hate silence.
“Fine. It’s for a girl.”
His grin grows but I continue, “I kind of broke some stuff in her shop so I’m trying to make it up to her.”
“Better make it nice then,” he says, instead of asking me a million questions about what I did wrong. “Grab one of those walnut boards and follow me.”
***
“Hey, Michael, I’m taking off early. I got the Hardy job finished and loaded in the truck. Grant’s ready to take it tomorrow.”
Michael looks up from the small desk that sits just off the shop we use to input jobs.
“You’re leaving early again? That’s the third time this week.”
“And?”
“It’s Wednesday.” He deadpans. “Where are you going?”
I rub my stomach. “I have a hankering for a donut.”
He arches in his seat and his back pops so loud I can hear it even with the table saw going. The dude’s getting old.
“Does this have to do with that girl whose shop you broke into?” he asks.
I scoff, “I did not break into her shop. I broke apartof her shop. Big difference.”
“Does she even like you?”
Ouch. I don’t think Michael intended for the question to hit so hard, but for some reason it does. I’ve dated lots of girls. But none of them were serious, and I think my family knew that before I did. Or I knew but didn’t care. What Michael is really asking is ‘Is she too good for you?’
“I don’t know,” I say honestly.
He folds his arms and engages in a stare-down. I’m not twelve anymore, I won’t fall for—agh, I blinked.
He snickers. “Maybe try harder then.”
That's the plan. “Oh, do you mind if I raid the odd handle drawer?”
“Go for it,” he waves me away.
I find the ten least atrocious handles and head out with my tool bag.
When I make it to the bakery, I don’t see London anywhere. That’s okay; she would only try to stop me, and I’m a man on a mission.
I say hi to the new girl working the register who introduces herself as Cassie. Then head deeper into the bakery.
“You can’t be back here.” There’s a man in the kitchen. One I’m not familiar with. And he’s a giant.
I stop, extending a hand and a smile. “Hey, I’m Sean.”
“You can’t be back here,” he repeats.
Okay then. “I’m fixing the cabinets.” I pat my tool belt then point to the cabinet whose door is halfway off.
He looks at the broken door then at me. “Then fix it.”
I kneel by the cabinet and study the hinges. I should replace the whole thing, but I can’t today. A simple fix will have to do. I pull out a jar of sugar. Or is it salt?
