Page 62 of Passion in Bloom

“Excuse me, Mr. Downing?” I asked, taking a chance to be nosy for once.

He raised his brows as he slid the bag with Fergus’s lunch over the counter.

“This is a strange question, but has anyone else used the women’s room lately?” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, as if he wouldn’t know what I was talking about.

“No.” He scowled. “Don’t tell me that punk left a huge mess in there again.”

“Nevaeh?” I asked.

He nodded, unhappy. “That punk is nothing but a damn grifter, coming in as she pleases, leaving a big ass mess in there. Last week, I had to kick her out for dying her damn hair in the sink.” He shook his head, snarling. “Homeless, good-for-nothing punk. I don’t trust her.”

She wasn’t homeless. Roarke made it clear she could always go stay with him. And I couldn’t believe anyone was ever truly good for nothing. Everyone had a purpose, even if it was a bad one, like David.

“It isn’t wise to be so quick with judgments like that, Mr. Downing,” I replied, keeping the sass out of my tone but being firm. “Not without getting to know a person first.”

Part of my retort was a belated defense of myself. When I was younger, he, and others in town, were quick to judge me just because they assumed I had to be like my parents who earned their reputations.

Mr. Downing opened and closed his mouth, seeming to be stuck with what to say. Or if he wanted to say anything at all. Finally, he did. Hanging his head for a moment, he lost the scowl and frowned. “I understand what you’re saying, young lady.”

It was my turn to raise my brows. “Do you?”

He nodded, calm and almost apologetic. “I did that when you were younger,” he admitted. “I’m sorry I was harsh on you all those years ago when you were younger.”

“Banning me from coming in. Accusing me of trying to skip on bills. Refusing to hire me as a dishwasher.” I listed it all with a droll tone.

He nodded again. “I’m sorry. You didn’t end up like your parents at all.”

“I didn’t.”

“I was wrong to assume you’d be just like them,” he added. “But since you’ve been here in town, you seem like a decent young lady. Working at the bank and not causing any trouble. Not asking for handouts and such all the time like your folks did.”

I nodded once. “I appreciate that, Mr. Downing.” It was a huge start in the right direction, someone—particularly someone old-fashioned like him—owning up for his past mistakes and too-speedy judgments.

“It’s not a crime to give people a chance to prove themselves,” I said, rolling with this bravery to speak up for once, even in defense of Nevaeh, who seemed to earn opinions of her behavior. “And while I’ll try to be open to giving people a second chance, I really can’t say I know her that well either.”

He grunted, shaking his head. “She’s the only one who went in there since I opened,” he said, pointing in the direction of the bathroom. “And I know she messes it up every time. Never buys anything in here. Never pays for a thing. Just uses it as a bathroom and goes. She’s like a grifter around here.”

“I think she has a home, though, John,” the woman seated with the toddler said.

I turned to face her, realizing she was listening in.

“I’ve seen her at that brownstone a couple of streets over.”

Mr. Downing scoffed. “That ugly apartment building Jerry owns?”

The lady nodded and smirked. “Yeah. We live on the third floor,” she said, wiping the toddler’s mouth. “All I can afford as a stay-at-home-mom with a lousy remote freelance job.”

“Nevaeh has a place there?” I asked her.

“I don’t know if she’s renting something, but she’s been hanging around there near a couple of apartments with these losers. A couple of men who rent there aren’t the best sort of guys to be around.”

“How so?” I asked.

“One deals drugs, I think. Weed and whatever. Marty’s stopped there a few times.”

None of this could be good news. Nothing about this filled me with hope.

Nevaeh was pregnant and potentially staying with a deadbeat in a rougher side of town.

I would always advocate for someone to have the right to their privacy, but this seemed bad.

She was nineteen, legally an adult, but not one who’d be responsible for her actions.

If she planned to be responsible for someone else, for her child, it seemed like it was imperative that I share this news with Roarke—sooner than later.