The bakery settles into its nighttime self. Warm metal. Cooling sugar. Lemon cleaner. Rain against synthglass. Thedisplay case hums low and steady. Evie wipes the counter, humming under her breath. The pencils in her hair have loosened, and a golden strand curls along her cheek.
I stand near the prep table, hands at my sides.
She looks over. “You’ve been strange all day.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I am often strange.”
“That’s true, but this is a specific flavor of strange.”
I draw a breath. “I need to ask you something.”
Her hand stills on the rag. “Okay.”
The word is small but open. Trusting.
My prepared sentences scatter again.
“I have completed many repairs,” I say.
Her brow furrows. “Yes.”
“The display case remains functional.”
“Mostly because you glare at it every morning.”
“The window panel is secure. The rear door has been reinforced. The storage shelves now support twice their prior load. The oven vent is no longer leaking vapor into the wall cavity.”
“That one was very sexy of you.”
My mind stops.
Her eyes widen. “Sorry. Joke. Mostly.”
I attempt to continue and fail for several seconds. “The bakery’s operational status has improved.”
“It has.”
“Your debt recovery from my labor is… ongoing.”
She sets the rag down slowly. “Kauss, are you quitting?”
“No.”
The speed of my answer makes her lips part slightly.
“No,” I say again, more controlled. “I am not quitting.”
“Okay.”
“I am attempting to establish that my next request is not related to debt, repairs, security, or operational necessity.”
Her expression clears by degrees into something alert and amused. “That is quite an opening.”
“I was advised to be plain.”
