I smiled into the darkness and whispered back, “You know I will.” I’d prepared for this a long time ago, part of me hoping that it would never come to this, that he’d never have to know.
As I waved the censor around his bed, the incense smoke billowed through the openings as I swatted away my own foolish thoughts. This was destiny. An honorable inheritance. Smoke wafted around Kingston’s bed, and I chanted the words of ourancestors. Gradually, he quit kicking, and his restless legs stilled. I backed out slowly…before he awakened and saw me.
It wasn’t yet time.
Chapter
Four
Skylar
“Sonny. Hello.”I called out for the owner of The Daily Knead. The store appeared deserted, but I knew there was no way the proprietor had left his place unattended. He was a cranky old goat. Inhaling deeply, my mouth watered at the fragrant aroma of fresh bread, sweetness, and spices. “Sonny!”
“Calm your horses,” he griped, storming in from the back.
“Sorry. I just didn’t know if?—”
“What’s your number?” he cut me off, pointing at the number dispenser on the counter. Since I was completely alone in the tiny store, that seemed ridiculous, but I’d learned the hard way that rules were rules.
I glanced over as the door chimed, and a couple of teenage boys came through the doorway. One of them slid between me and the dispenser and pulled a number. Without missing a beat, Sonny looked down next to his register and called, “Number Seventy-five.”
The youth waved it over his head like it was the golden ticket to the Wonka Factory or something. “Right here.”
Sonny huffed. “What you want then?”
Knowing that arguing I was here first wouldn’t get me anywhere, I ignored the other boy’s smug grin and reached past to pull my own winning number. So I’d be next. After them.Unbelievable.
“You gotta be faster, city boy,” the ticket holder said after he gave Sonny his ridiculously long order.
Ignoring his jab, I asked, “Who are you getting all of that bread for?” They’d ordered a pie and some pizza dough, as well, but the eight loaves of different breads were a bit over the top.
The other one, a redhead, popped his gum and lifted his chin in a weird dude-bro kinda way for standing inside of a bakery, ordering like a little Italian grandmother right before Sunday dinner with her extended family. “We’re businessmen.”
Sonny snorted but continued grabbing what they’d asked for. Number boy waved his ticket. “Yeah, we are.”
Amused, I quirked one fabulously-styled eyebrow at him. “Really? And what’s your hustle?”
The redhead scoffed. “No hustle. We’ve got customers. They pay cash money.”
Number boy nodded. “We sure do. All the old people in that senior development off the state streets. We run errands for them and such. Today’s bakery day.”
“Ah.” Impressed, I eyed the two kids down. “You drive?”
The redhead scowled. “Two more months and Craig gets his license.” He thumbed toward his line-cutting friend. “But it don’t matter. We’ve got bikes.”
Sonny’s loud snort drew our attention. “Bikes. Blah. Back in my day, we had to actually use our legs to pedal. It was exercise. You kids today with your motors…lazy. All of ya.”
We all ignored him. “So you run your business riding around on bicycles all day, huh?”
The one named Craig, his chin rose up. “Yeah. What of it? Like Theo said, I’m almost seventeen, and I’ll be able to drive. We gotta earn money for the car, though.” His gaze ran from the top of my New York salon cut and dye job to the bottoms of myGucciloafers. “Guess you wouldn’t know anything about that, city boy.”
If only they knew. I’d worked hard and saved every penny to cultivate the air of wealth that appealed to the type of clients I drew for my interior design business. I’d be just as happy in a pair of cut-off shorts, a tank, and cheap slides, but needs must.
The boys paid Sonny based on their separate orders, surprising me when the older man didn’t grouch at them for taking up his time. Then he handed them each a cheese Danish, making them grin like happy teenagers. When my eyes widened, he barked, “What? That’s a good thing they do helping out the elderly.”
Holding up both hands, I agreed, then asked Craig, “You guys got a card?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I’m an interior designer, and I have a new job starting in town. Sometimes I run out or mislay things at inconvenient times. It would be great if I had someone to call to run things out to me.”
While he stared at me, likely trying to decide if I was on the up and up, Theo stepped closer, clutching his precious packages in one arm and pointing his Danish at me with the other hand. “I know you.”
