Page 49 of A Taste of Vanilla

“How long is for now?”

“As long as needed.”

“That’s not a time frame.”

“Grief doesn’t respect leases.”

“A practical time frame is one week. Then we reassess,” Oliver cuts in.

I turn to him. “Did you just compromise with grief?”

“Yes.”

Of course he did.

Marley writes ONE WEEK REASSESS under Immediate.

“What if I want to go home?” I ask. They both look at me. “I don’t,” I add quickly. “Not today, anyway. But eventually I need my things.”

“Soon category,” Marley says.

“We’ll get your essentials until you’re ready.” Oliver nods.

“I should go.”

“No,” they say together.

I bristle. “I’m an adult.”

Marley’s face softens. “You are. But adults are allowed to have backup.”

I look down at my eggs and take a bite, all too aware of Oliver’s eyes on me like a prison warden with a protein fixation.

“What else is immediate?” I ask.

Marley looks at the list. “We tell your employees something minimal.”

I stop chewing.

The bakery. Work. People.

I have employees. Part-time baristas. A morning bakernamed Lisa who has three kids and no tolerance for nonsense. A cashier named Dev who calls everyone bestie and somehow makes it charming instead of insufferable. Customers who will ask about wedding plans because I screamed my engagement from the rooftops. Vendors. Brides with cake tastings. Moms ordering birthday cakes.

People who know me as Halston, the smiling bakery owner. Not Halston, the woman sleeping right next door because her fiancé had extracurricular activities with his secretary.

My stomach turns.

“I have to open.”

“No,” Oliver says.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s Thursday.”

“Close for the day. Let the employees come in later and handle it.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”