And for a few hours tonight, I wasn’t the traumatized Omega with the shady past. I wasn’t the single mother struggling to make rent. I was just Amber, part of the line, of the machine. I had a purpose. It was intoxicating.
I pull up in front of the Fox & Fern Café. The lights in the front are dimmed, but I can see a faint glow coming from the back office. Wren is still up.
I grab my purse and climb out, locking the car behind me. The bell above the door chimes softly as I let myself in. The café is dark, the chairs stacked on the tables. The place smells of coffee.
“Wren?” I call out softly.
“Back here,” comes the tired reply.
I walk past the counter, with its vintage cash register and lace curtains, and push open the door to the office. Wren is sitting at her desk, surrounded by a mountain of paperwork.
She looks exhausted. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, her glasses are sliding down her nose, and there are dark circles under her eyes that rival my own.
“Hey,” I say, stepping inside. “I thought you’d be home by now.”
Wren rubs her eyes, blinking up at me. “I was trying to get the orders in for next week. But my brain stopped functioning about an hour ago.”
“Is everything okay? Jude mentioned you were dealing with a sick…?”
“Nell,” she sighs, leaning back in her chair. “She’s got the flu that’s been going around the elementary school. Poor thing is miserable. Fever, cough, the works. Simon is home with her now, but… it’s just hard, you know? Hearing her cry and not being able to fix it.”
“She’ll be okay,” I assure her, leaning against the doorframe. “Simon is a doctor. He’s got this.”
“I know. I just hate being away from her when she’s sick.” Wren stands up, stretching her arms over her head, her joints popping. “Anyway. I’m glad you’re here. I was worried about the roses.”
“Me too. That’s why I came by.”
We walk together to the small walk-in cooler located at the back of the shop. It’s an older unit, but it’s reliable. I open the heavy door, and a rush of cold, floral-scented air hits us.
Inside, stacked neatly on the wire shelves, are the buckets of roses and hydrangeas I moved over this morning.
I lift a bucket of white hydrangeas, checking the water level. The blooms look heavy, the petals lush and hydrated. I touch a rose petal; it’s cool and firm, crisp to the touch.
“They look good,” I observe, relief washing over me. “The temperature is holding steady. The cooler at the shop was fluctuating, but this one seems solid.”
“Thank god,” Wren exhales. “If we lost this stock, the clearance sale next week would be a bust. These are premium blooms.”
I set the bucket down and mist the other flowers with a spray bottle I brought in. “The blue hydrangeas are thirsty, but they’re perking up. I think the move actually did them good—got them out of that stagnant air in the broken unit.”
“Small mercies,” Wren says, leaning against the doorframe. “So, tell me. How was the first official shift at the restaurant? Did they feed you? Did Knox glare at you?”
I laugh, closing the cooler door. “They fed me. Eli made sure I had a burger before the rush. And Knox didn’t glare. He mostly just… existed very intensely. It was actually kind of amazing to watch. He’s like a surgeon with a sauté pan.”
“I bet,” Wren smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She looks at me, her gaze searching. “And how areyou? Really? I know everyone is a little on edge with these coming renovations. It’s a lot.”
I lean against the hallway wall, crossing my arms. The question hangs in the air, heavy and expectant. I could give her the standard answer—“I’m fine, just tired.” But Wren isn’t just a boss; she’s a friend. She’s been through the wringer herself.
“I’m… okay,” I say slowly, testing the truth of it. “Actually, I think I’m more than okay. Today was hard work, but it felt good. Real. I haven’t felt useful like that in a long time. And being around Eli… even Fallon and Knox… it makes me feel safe. Not just physically safe, but mentally safe. Like I don’t have to constantly look over my shoulder.”
Wren’s expression softens. “That’s huge, Amber. I’m so glad to hear that.”
“I’m still worried about the money,” I admit, the knot of anxiety tightening slightly in my chest. “The car repair took a chunk out of my savings, and with the shop closing for months… I need this job at the restaurant. I need it to work.”
“It will work,” Wren says firmly. “You’re a hard worker. They’d be crazy not to keep you on. And if they don’t, I’ll find a place for you here. I can always use another pair of hands.”
I smile. “Thanks, Wren. But I think I’m going to stick to the kitchen for now. Less risk of dropping a tray of muffins on a customer.”
“Fair enough.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “You should get home, though. It’s late. Maisie will be wondering where you are.”
