Page 88 of Show Me

Chapter Forty-Two

Xavier

The shop smells like cinnamon. Not the usual mix of coffee and drywall dust that settles in by the end of the day. Cinnamon.

I slow as I step inside. Boxes sit open on the workbench, brown paper folded back, crumbs scattered across the surface. Chairs are pushed in. Tools stacked. The place is quiet except for the low hum of the overhead lights.

One pastry sits in the corner of a box. A lone survivor. I pick it up, turning it once in my hand. “They leave me this?”

Ruby looks up from the desk, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “I fought them off with a stapler.”

“Impressive.”

I take a bite. Sweet. Warm. Familiar in a way that has nothing to do with the bakery. I shove the thought away as fast as it sprang up. It’s a fucking donut. Nothing else.

Dad clears his throat behind me, reminding us that he’s here. Ledger open. Glasses low. Pen moving slow and steady across the page.

His chair is angled toward the front, toward the door, the lot beyond it. The window reflects enough to show the movement behind him without turning. Watching. I don’t comment.

Ruby gathers the empty boxes, folding them down one at a time. “Emily sends her love.”

Dad grunts. “Good woman.”

When it comes to Dad, that’s high praise.

The paper creases under Ruby’s hands. She stacks the boxes, taps them square. Then, like it’s nothing, “I ran into Brent today.”

The pastry stills in my hand. Dad’s pen pauses. “Where?”

“Outside the bakery.” Her eyes are on the cardboard she’s flattening. “He came out of the gym.”

I don’t respond right away. “He say anything?”

“It’s like he’s taken a page out of Greg’s playbook.” She shrugs. “He said you’re a player. That I should be careful.”

She sets the box aside, brushing crumbs from the desk with the edge of her hand. “I think he’s pissed that you aren’t doing his project.”

Her tone is steady. Hands moving. “You believe that?”

She hesitates. It’s barely there, but I feel it. Along with the irritation that these two jokers think they get to make her feel inferior.

“I think…” She exhales. “I think I’m trying to make it make sense.”

Dad closes the ledger. Not loud. Just final.

“He doesn’t get to make you uncomfortable.” His eyes are sharp as she meets his gaze. “Neither of them do. Not here. Not anywhere.”

Ruby’s shoulders drop a fraction. “I know.”

Dad stands, grabbing his jacket. He pauses beside her desk. “You heading out soon?”

“In a few minutes.”

He nods once. “I’ll lock up.”

The door shuts behind him. The hum of the lights fills the space he leaves. The room feels different without him in it, like there’s tension. But not. I set the pastry down on the edge of the workbench.

“He was waiting?”