Page 63 of Buried Dreams

“You’re early,” I say, looking at my clock and seeing it’s just after one in the afternoon. “I said be here at three.”

“I know, I know.” She bounces on the tips of her feet. “But come on, you have to show me the space.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Two hours isn’t going to kill you,” I tease her and then look up when another car parks behind my mother. Oliver slides out of the driver’s side with a scowl on his face. “Oh, someone is in trouble with Daddy.”

My mother whips her head to me. “Don’t ever call him Daddy again.”

I snort-laugh, pushing up and walking out of the truck at the same time Oliver gets in front of my mother. “We were supposed to have lunch.” He puts his hands on his hips.

“I called and left you a message that I wasn’t coming to that,” she states. “And I texted; it’s not my fault you don’t check your things.” She folds her arms over her chest. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t dying. I would have died.”

“No!” I snap. “Too soon.”

“Okay, fine.” She looks up at the sky before turning to look at Oliver. “I’m busy with my daughter. You can go get lunch at the diner.” She points at the diner, then turns to me. “Now, you can either go in there with me”—she points over her shoulder at the door—“or I’m going in without you.”

“She is so bossy.” I look at Oliver. “How long is she supposed to not work for?”

“Would she listen to me anyway?” He glares at her. “I said you could start light work next week.”

“I’m not working!” she shrieks. “I’m visiting my daughter.”

I put my hand beside my mouth to block it from my mother and aim my words at Oliver. “She glazed some of the donuts this morning.”

“You are going to get it,” my mother warns with her teeth clenched together.

“The last time she told me that, I was eighteen and I laughed at her,” I tell Oliver, “and she took off her shoe and threw it at me.”

She doesn’t even defend herself; instead, she huffs out as she turns to the bakery and storms into it, but Oliver catches her around her waist. “Let her surprise you.”

“No,” she barks, “it’s time for me to see.”

“Fine,” I concede. “Such a child.” I walk over to the door and look back at her, a smile now on my face. “I’m going to film this for social media,” I inform her. “I’m going to go in and then you count to three and then come in.” I step in, turning my phone toward the door. As soon as it opens, I tell her, “Welcome to Maddie’s.” The camera is on her face as she steps in and sees what I did to her shop.

The floors are black-and-white squares, with four white cast-iron tables with matching chairs. The walls are painted a light pink as she walks over to the long white counter with the stainless-steel coffee machine I bought, which is right next to the glass display case. “In the back there”—I point at the built-in shelves I had made that sit behind the counter—“I was thinking we can have some homemade jam or something to sell. There are lots of local vendors that I’ve reached out to who would love to have some shelf space here.” Her hands go to her mouth. “You ready to see the kitchen?”

“I don’t know,” she says, wiping the tears from her face.

I turn the camera to my face. “I think she likes it,” I announce, walking to the back area and turning on the commercial lights we upgraded to. “This is your kitchen,” I say and turn the camera back to her. “We put a big stainless-steel island in the middle so you can work on cookies on one side and then donuts on the other.” I point at the table. “And we thought everything should be against the walls. You have not one but two fridges, so you can get more prepped.” I point at the commercial fridges I splurged on, the four glass doors showing you the empty racks inside. “Then you have your two mixers so you can prep more dough and not do little batches during the day.” I point at the two mixers. “Then we got you two ovens because one is just not enough and then four fryers. You will be frying for a very long time,” I joke with her as I look back at her marveling in what I did.

“This—” she starts. “Turn that off,” she says of the camera, and I raise my eyebrows at her.

“Well, that’s it for Maddie. Tune in for the big grand opening next Monday,” I tell the camera before turning it off.

“Everleigh, this is all too much.” She looks around. “Can we even afford all of this? We haven’t even gotten the insurance money yet.”

“About that.” I take a big inhale and then look over at Oliver, who looks at the ceiling and then braces himself for what is going to come. “The fire chief came in a couple of weeks ago.”

“What?” she asks, shocked. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Well, it wasn’t that good of a visit,” I admit. “The cause of the fire was arson,” I say, and she gasps.

“It’s not a surprise,” she says, “but hearing it officially takes my breath away.” She shakes her head.

“Not only that, he knows we didn’t set it, but he can’t prove someone else set it either.”

“So now what?” she asks. “How did you do all of this?”

“Well.” I brace myself for her to totally go off.

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