“With what?”
“The cafe.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Have you worked in food service?”
“No.”
“Espresso?”
“No.”
“Commercial kitchen?”
“No.”
“Point-of-sale system?”
“No.”
Oliver stared.
“This is a compelling application.”
Audrey almost smiled.
“I can learn.”
“If you work here, you complete the same paperwork as anyone else.”
“Okay.”
“Temporary employee form.”
“Okay.”
“Food safety course before you touch the kitchen.”
“Okay.”
“No cash under the table.”
“Fine.”
“Minimum wage until you stop being expensive to supervise.”
“That seems fair.”
Lucy looked up from her homework.
“She’s going to make terrible coffee.”
Audrey looked at her.
“You sound confident.”
“I’ve seen Dad train people.”
By the second afternoon Audrey could take orders.
By the fourth she could use the espresso machine without causing foam to explode over the counter.
Latte art remained beyond her.
Lucy examined one attempt.
“It looks like a potato.”
“It is supposed to be a heart.”
“That makes it worse.”
Life inside Bluebird Corner developed a rhythm Audrey had never experienced inside Cedar Bridge offices.
Nothing could be postponed behind an executive assistant.
If toast burned, somebody smelled it.
If the bathroom ran out of paper towels, a customer told you.
If a regular looked tired, Oliver noticed.
Margaret Keller came every Thursday morning.
Seventy-one.
Widowed.
Apartment 2B behind the cafe.
She ordered two eggs, one slice of rye toast, and coffee with enough milk that Oliver privately considered it no longer coffee.
One Friday she opened her purse and frowned.
“I left my cash envelope upstairs.”
Oliver placed the plate down anyway.
“Pay me next week.”
“I still owe you from Tuesday.”
“Then pay both.”
Margaret lowered her voice.
“I don’t want charity.”
“It isn’t charity.”
“What is it?”
“Breakfast on account.”
Oliver wrote the amount into a small notebook beneath the counter.
Then he moved to the next customer.
No performance.
No announcement.
Audrey watched Margaret carry the plate away.
“You could just tell her she doesn’t owe you.”
Oliver looked at the grill.
“That would make her feel worse.”
“So you pretend it’s credit.”
“I don’t pretend. She pays when she can.”
He flipped an egg.
“People need food. They don’t need to be embarrassed while they eat it.”
Audrey remembered the sentence.
That same afternoon, a business report appeared on the television mounted over the pastry case.
Preston Shaw stood beside a rendering of Harbor Row.
In the digital image, the old brick buildings were gone.
In their place stood glass apartment towers, polished retail storefronts, rooftop trees, and young professionals drinking coffee beneath umbrellas.
The reporter described Cedar Bridge Development Group as a privately held development company valued above four billion dollars.
Preston talked about renewal.
Jobs.
Housing.
Investment.
Audrey turned away.
Oliver noticed.
“You know him.”
“Yes.”