They were like what my mother had used to make. Farmhouse white, she’d called it. Big things like cartoon loaves. All doughy and pillowy, not sweet like the bread here.
It was uncanny how I knew what the bread would taste like before I even cut into it, slathered it with butter, and took a bite.
The taste of home hit me, and for once, it didn’t turn my stomach. Before things had beensobad, my mom and I had been close. This reminded me of those times.
As I chomped on three slices, I reached for my cell. It was two AM, and Aidan had brought me back here after a meeting at his office. I’d seen no point in calling Samuel out from his warm bed, but now that I was here, I had questions.
Me:Did Aoife get home safely?
It didn’t take Sam even thirty seconds to reply—it didn’t matter that it was late.
Samuel:Yes. She left at four—covered in flour she was, too. Gave me a loaf of bread of all things.
Me:Good. Enjoy the bread. I need you here at six tomorrow.
Samuel:Sure thing, boss.
Putting the phone down, I smiled at the thought of her baking half a dozen loaves. As I looked at the army of bread, I had to concede that it wouldn’t take me long to power through it.
In fact, I might be on the last loaf when I could finally bring her back here, and claim her as mine again.
***
Aoife
“I can’t believe it.”
I winced. “Me, either.”
Jenny and I both stood outside what had been, until five days ago, my tea room.
Like rats that had left the sinking ship, the building was now vacated, and Acuig had builders swarming all over the place like fleas.
Even knowing Finn was at the head of Acuig—or Aidan O'Donnelly, I figured to be accurate—I hated what I was seeing.
It hurt knowing that the place Mom and I had built together would be no more.
“What made you do it, Eef?” she asked, shortening my name the way I’d allow only her to do. The nickname made me sound like some kind of Vape manufacturer, and only she could get away with it, considering I’d known her since I was ten years old, and she’d been at my side through most of the crappiest parts of my life.
This included.
“The money was too good to be true,” I half-lied. I couldn’t exactly tell her about my father, could I? Not even Jenny knew the Senator was my biological dad.
“That sucks. Are you going to open somewhere new?”
I pondered that a second, and shook my head. When disappointment flashed over her features, something I only saw thanks to her reflection in a car that trundled by, I murmured, “Not a tea room.”
“Not a tea room?” She frowned. “Then, what else?”
“A bakery. Just a bakery.”
“With a store front?”
“Of course. Where else could you sell stuff for me?”
She grinned at me. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” I elbowed her gently. “I just don’t know where.”