<i>(</i><i>Scarlett’s </i><i>POV</i><i>) </i>
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The afternoon sun filters through the café windows as I watch Lily color at the corner table. She insisted on bringing her entire crayon collection, and now there’s a rainbow explosion across the white tablecloth. Dorian doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looks charmed by her artistic chaos.
“Purple elephants are definitely the best kind,” he tells her seriously, examining hertest
masterpiece.
Lily beams. “Mama says I can use any colors I want because art doesn’t have rules.”
“Your mama is very wise.”
Something warm spreads through my chest at the easy way he talks to her. No talking down, no forced enthusiasm. Just genuine interest in whatever four–year–old wisdom she wants to
share.
“More coffee?” The waitress appears beside our table.
“Please.” I need the caffeine. Between reopening the bakery and staying upte worrying about Virginia’s threats, I’ve barely slept.
Dorian waits until the waitress leaves before leaning forward slightly. “You look tired. Is
everything okay?”
I could lie. Smile and say I’m fine, like I always do. But something about his steady gaze
makes me want to be honest.
“Just some leftover stress from the whole health department thing.” I fidget with my coffee cup. “It’s hard <i>to </i>trust that it’s really over.”
“Has there been more harassment?”
My phone buzzes in my purse, and my stomach clenches, I’ve been getting messages from blocked numbers all week. Nothing directly threatening, just enough to keep me on edge.
“A few weird texts. Probably nothing.”
Dorian’s expression darkens. “Scarlett, if someone’s targeting you-”
“I’m handling it.” The wordse out sharper than I intended. “Sorry. I just… I’m used to dealing with things on my own.”
< Chapter 24
:
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“You don’t have to anymore.”
The simple statement hits me harder than it should. When was thest time someone offered to share my burdens instead of adding to them?
“Anyway,” I say quickly, needing to change the subject. “You mentioned something about your business?”
Dorian nces at Lily, who’s moved on to drawing what appears to be a rainbow unicorn, then back to me. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for weeks.”
“Oh?”
“I own Davidson Chain Supermarkets. Fifteen locations across the state.”
My coffee cup freezes halfway to my lips. “You own Davidson’s?”
“My grandfather started with one store. My father expanded to five. I’ve been working on growing the business since I took over eight years ago.”
I stare at him, pieces clicking into ce. The expensive clothes he wears casually. The way he talks about having “connections” like they’re nothing. The confidence thates from never having to worry about money.
He’s not just sessful. He’s wealthy. Really wealthy.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because I like the way you look at me when you don’t know.” His smile is soft, almost shy. “Like I’m just Dorian who likes your bread. Not Davidson’s heir.”
Heat floods my cheeks. He’s right. I do look at him differently now. Can’t help calcting the distance between my small bakery and his business empire.
“The reason I’m telling you now,” he continues, “is because I have a proposition.”
“What kind of proposition?”
“I want to put your bread in my stores. All fifteen locations.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “Are you serious?”
“Completely. I’ve done the market research. There’s huge demand for artisanal baked goods. Your quality is exactly what my customers are looking for.”
My mind races. Fifteen stores. That would mean…
:
“How many loaves are we talking about?”
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“To start? Maybe two hundred loaves per store, three times a week. That’s six hundred loaves total.”
“Six hundred.” The number makes me dizzy. “Dorian, I barely manage fifty loaves a day now<i>.</i><i>” </i>
“You’d need to expand. Hire employees, get industrial ovens, maybe move to a bigger location.” He leans back in his chair. “I’m not talking about a hobby bakery anymore, Scarlett. I’m talking about a real business. One that could support you and Lily for life.”
The dream he’s painting is beautiful. Financial security. A real future. The ability <i>to </i>provide for Lily without constantly worrying about making rent.
But it would also mean changing everything. The personal touch that makes each loaf special. The rtionships with individual customers. The small, intimate space where Lily can do homework while I work.
“I don’t know if I want to be that big,” I admit.
Dorian nods like he expected this answer. “I understand. Mass production isn’t for everyone.”
“It’s not about the work. I just…” I search for the right words. “When I started the bakery, it was about creating something meaningful. Each loaf tells a story. If I’m making six hundred
at a time…”
“They be just products instead of art,” he finishes.
“Exactly.”
“What if we found a middle ground? Maybe start with just two or three stores. See how it
feels.”
The offer is generous. More than generous. And I know I should be grateful. Should jump at the chance to secure my future.
But something holds me back.
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.”
Lily looks up from her drawing. “Mama, I’m hungry.”
“We should order food.” I reach for the menu, grateful for the distraction.
“Actually,” Dorian checks his watch, “there’s a food truck festival in the park. Lily might enjoy
< Chapter 24
that more than café food.”
“Food trucks!” Lily bounces in her seat. “Can we, Mama? Please?”
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I look between them–Dorian’s hopeful expression, Lily’s excitement–and feel something in my chest loosen. When was thest time I did something just for fun?
“Okay. Food truck festival it is.”
Twenty minutester, we’re walking through the park, Lily skipping between us like she’s imed us both as her personal entertainmentmittee. The festival is bigger than I expected–dozens of colorful trucks selling everything from Korean tacos to gourmet grilled
cheese.
“Everything looks so good,” Lily deres, spinning in a circle to take it all in.
“What sounds good to you?” Dorian asks her.
“Ice cream!”
“Food first, then ice cream,” I say automatically.
“How about we split the difference?” Dorian points to a truck decorated with cartoon cows.
“Mac and cheese ice cream.”
Lily’s eyes go wide. “That’s a thing?”
“Apparently.”
We end up with a ridiculous amount of food–Korean BBQ bowls, funnel cake, fresh lemonade, and yes, the mac and cheese ice cream, which turns out to be surprisingly good.
“This is the best day ever,” Lily announces, orange cheese sauce decorating her chin.
I use a napkin <i>to </i>clean her face, my heart full in a way it hasn’t been in years. This feels normal. Like family. Like the kind of Saturday afternoon I used to dream about when I was married to a man who treated weekends like another workday.
“Look, Mama!” Lily points across the park. “There’s a face painter!”
“Maybe after we finish eating,” I start to say, but Dorian’s already standing.
“Come on. Life’s too short to eat responsibly all the time.”
Lily grabs both our hands as we walk toward the face painting booth. Other families are scattered across the grass–couples with children, grandparents chasing toddlers, teenagers sharing carnival food.
< Chapter 24
We look just like them. Just like a normal family having a normal day.
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The thought should scare me. Instead, it fills me with something dangerously close to hope.
“I want to be a butterfly!” Lily deres when we reach the front of the line.
The artist, a college–aged girl with purple hair, grins. “I do excellent butterflies. What colors?”
<b>“</b><b>All </b>of them!”
As Lily settles into the chair, chattering excitedly about wing patterns, I feel eyes on me. That prickly sensation that makes the hair on my neck stand up.
I turn casually, scanning the crowd.
And my heart stops.
Jasper.
Violet Moon
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