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“There’s a car waiting for you out front.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Unbelievable. You can’t help it, can you?”
“You’re a Crowley now, Keely, whether you like it or not. Give Nolan a break and take him back.”
I stare at Carson for another moment before I leave the bar. Sure enough, a black SUV’s waiting for me, with Roger behind the wheel.
“Heading home?” he asks, putting it into gear.
“To Jamila’s apartment. I assume you know where that is?”
He grins at me in the rearview and drives.
Chapter40
Keely
Aweek passes. I start heading into the donut shop again and find Roger and the guys are still hard at work, finishing up the place. Each time I step through the door, it’s closer and closer to being finished, like my dream of owning an actual running donut place is coming to fruition, and it’s freaking me out. Now it’s a matter of days, not weeks, before I’m ready to start baking in earnest.
That weekend, Jamila wakes me early on Saturday as she bangs around the kitchen. “Sorry to bother you,” she says, looking sheepish. “It’s just that I’m headed home to visit my grandmother.”
“Really?” I rub my face, sitting up. “Which one?”
“My father’s mother.” She glances down at the floor. “You know, the criminal?”
I grin at her. “Come on, you know that I don’t care about that at this point. Can I come with you? Maybe it’ll be nice to see another family.”
“You mean another crime family?”
“I wasn’t going to put it that way.”
“No, you should come, it’ll be good.” She perks up. “How about we bake some donuts to bring with us? I know this kitchen isn’t ideal, but we can make it work.”
“Absolutely.” I get up, brush my teeth, get ready for the day, then spend the next couple hours making dough, icing, and frying. We manage to produce some decent product, vanilla dipped in chocolate, simple but effective. We sample one, cutting it in half.
“Okay, that’s actually really good.” Jamila sighs, shaking her head. “Maybe I should rethink my decision to leave the business.”
“You know my door’s open. You’ll always be my partner, silent or otherwise.”
She snorts. “I like that, silent partner.”
“Come on, let’s go see what your grandmother thinks of these.” I pack up the donuts and we head out together.
It’s a nice morning, so we decide to walk. Jamila tells me about her family, avoiding the topic of the war. She jokes about her aunts and uncles, about her grandmother and grandfather, about her cousins. “They’re crazy people,” she says, running her fingers down a wrought-iron fence. “Seriously, they’re insane. Hard drinking, very loud, always getting into trouble.”
“You’d think they’d be a little bit more low key, considering their business.”
“Eh, that’s how they are.” She waves a hand in the air. “Besides, they’re not on the street. They’ve got other people for that.”
“Another level to the madness, huh?”
“Exactly. My family’s smart.” He taps her head. “You wouldn’t catch my grandmother selling on a corner.”
“I’d love to see that though.”
“She’d be the toughest criminal in town.”
I look out across traffic. “They’re not so different from the Crowleys after all, you know. I mean, not the same level, but still.”
