GAVIN
After the early morning, I needed a pick-me-up. The sushi was great and left me feeling energized for a few hours. I was able to get some other work done. There was a proposal I was working on for the firm, a social media campaign aimed at getting younger investors in the doors.
Most of the people we worked with were at the height of their career or sliding into retirement. We had a few clients who had successfully completed their life’s work and needed a steady income for the next decade or two. Most everyone else was around forty or fifty. Mr. Lincoln thought it would be good to advertise for the twenty to thirty crowd, and that meant social media.
I had a bit of experience in that realm. Taking pictures for the magazine meant that I was expected to provide followers with a steady stream of images. I got a good sense of what was popular. Turning that knowledge around, I looked for stock tips or quick investment ideas that would entice a younger audience.
Packaging it up, I sent it to the head of the PR department for approval. There were a million steps that had to be followed in order to let something out into the world. The branding specialist had to check it, and all the fonts had to be right. But I got it off my desk, and that was something.
At the end of the day, I found myself sluggish. I didn’t want to throw in the towel at quarter to five, so instead, I thought I would grab some coffee. What better place to do so than Petra’s bakery?
It was right down the street, and stopping by would allow me to check on our future investment. Not that any of my money was on the line, but I felt somewhat involved in what was going on. Patrick, Cory, Donovan, and I were a team. We were each bringing our knowledge to bear on the problem, helping small businesses get a leg up.
Sure, we weren’t focused on any other small business at the moment, but that didn’t mean that Petra’s bakery wasn’t worth the investment. We would focus on her for the time being and then expand to other locations. I told myself I would put just as much energy into another mom-and-pop shop as I did into Petra’s bakery, but I had to admit that wasn’t likely.
Petra herself was the winning ingredient. I had to admit I was smitten. It was all well and good to give Cory a hard time for fawning over her, but I found myself drawn back to that little hole in the wall just to see her.
I found her behind the counter, working hard as always. There was no one else in the store, so when I walked through the door, she relaxed. Favoring me with a tired smile, she reached below the counter for a paper coffee cup.
“It’s quarter to five,” she said. “Just fifteen more minutes and I can go home.”
“Do you always work such long days?” I asked. After visiting with her at three in the morning, I had been able to go back home, take a shower, and have breakfast. She had been trapped at work the whole time, doing whatever it was that she did to make the pastries taste so good.
“Unfortunately,” she sighed. “But that’s all going to change soon, right?”
“We had a meeting with the investor, and we think he’s on board,” I told her. “I just filled Cory in on what we talked about this morning.”
“Cory’s sweet,” she replied.
I knew Cory would be thrilled to hear her say that, so I filed it away under “information to share if the opportunity arose.”
“Can I get you a croissant?” she asked. “On the house.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pay for it,” I said.
“You shouldn’t have to. You’re going to do a great thing for us. For me, I mean.” She blinked, seeming to trip over her words. “Besides, half of the leftovers are going to the homeless shelter in an hour.”
“You do that?” I asked, intrigued.
“Yeah, I started the project back when I had my own bakery,” she explained, sliding the door open in the back of the display case and bagging two croissants for me. “There’s a staff member from the homeless shelter who comes around six. I leave the leftovers in a bag for him behind the store.”
“That could be good for PR.” I was already thinking of an angle to spin her charitable donations. It was good not to waste food and even better to help people who were down on their luck.
“I’m not doing it for PR,” she said flatly.
“Of course not,” I raced to cover my tracks. “I’m just…PR is my job, and that’s a wonderful thing you’re doing for the community. I think you should get credit for it.”
“Before I started to work here, they were throwing out anything that they couldn’t sell. They wouldn’t even let the staff take it home.”
I shook my head. On the surface, it seemed reasonable. I didn’t know what other companies did with their leftovers. If they couldn’t sell them, and couldn’t keep them, then what did they do? I knew all about dumpster diving. There was some romantic notion about scouring the back alleys for perfectly good food. But to designate the remains for a homeless shelter showed that she had a big heart. I couldn’t let that particular fact go unobserved.
“Some of the leftovers we bag and sell the next day. But there are things that won’t keep, like the croissants.”
“A croissant isn’t good the next day?”
“Horrible,” she laughed. “Croissants are supposed to be flaky and buttery. After a day, they get crispy and dry.”
I leaned in, intrigued. “You make croissants sound exotic.”