Leaning down, she spoke softly. “Nathan, today’s Philip’s birthday. Mom and Dad are inside. Do you want to come in and take a look?”
I stubbed out the cigarette.
When I spoke, my voice came out rough and dry. “No need. With one less of me around, won’t things be more peaceful for all of you?”
“Don’t say that.” She shook her head gently. “You’re still a Golding, Nathan.”
Before she could finish, the villa’s front doors were thrown open.
A man strode out, irritation etched into every step.
“Celeste! Who are you talking to?”
His gaze flicked toward me, sharp and dismissive.
“Haven’t I told you already? Don’t associate with those shady people outside.”
I didn’t wait to hear another word. I slammed the accelerator and pulled away.
Cold wind rushed through the car, seeping into my bones and leaving me shivering.
Eventually, the car came to a stop in front of a small steamed-bun shop.
The curtain lifted, and Luis Walker, my apprentice, stepped out with a wide grin.
“You’re back, Boss.”
My second shift began.
Kneading dough. Rolling wrappers. Chopping fillings and pre-heating ovens.
When it was finally over, I would collapse for three or four hours at most before dragging myself back behind the wheel.