Chapter 2 TWO

CHARLOTTE

My heart was racing, my thoughts going a million miles per second as I raced up the stairs behind the bakery to the apartments above where I lived. As I climbed the stairs to the top floor where Mr Finch's apartment was, the words from the poster downstairs kept repeating in my mind.

Pierce Industries. The letters kept appearing in my mind, taunting me, casting a gloomy shadow over everything familiar. The hallways were always quiet this time of the evening; its presence was usually warm and inviting. But tonight, it felt different- cold, empty, and unsettling, like a storm brewing.

I got to Harold's door, and before I could catch my breath or calm myself, I felt my knuckles knock at the door harder than I had intended; I tried to calm myself, taking in deep breaths.

I heard his gruff voice call out from behind the door, "Alright, alright, hold your horses." After a beat, the door creaked open, and Mr Finch appeared. His usual scowl softened into a confused expression when he took in my flushed face and anxious expression.

He sighed, understanding dawning in his eyes. He moved aside, gesturing for me to come in as he held the open, shuffling into his apartment. Every item had its exact place, the coasters stacked neatly on his kitchen counter, books aligned perfectly on the shelf by size, and the faint scent of lemon polish lingered in the air. His apartment was exactly how I'd imagined it; tidy, controlled, safe. Only this time, I didn't feel safe.

"Can I get you anything, kid?" he asked, glancing back at me as he shuffled toward the small kitchenette, his slippers dragging against the shiny wooden floorboards. I shook my head, my stomach too uneasy to manage anything right now.

"Harold," I said, my voice coming out as a quiver.

He let out a heavy sigh, gesturing to a stool for me to sit down. "You saw the poster, huh?" he asked, his tone flat, resigned. It was a rhetorical question, but I nodded anyway.

"I needed the money; I'm sorry, kid," he said apologetically, his tone heavy with guilt as he sank onto the armchair across from me with a grunt. "You know how it is."

And I did know, more than anyone. I knew about his struggles. Harold's granddaughter, Claire, had Severe Aplastic anemia, a condition that required constant care and treatment; his daughter, Stacy, and her husband were barely managing to keep up with Claire's medical bills, stretched so thin, they were losing sleep over it.

Harold had shared these burdens with me, late in the evenings when he'd stop by the bakery for a late snack and a coffee. We'd talk quietly, in the shared understanding of what it was like caring for a loved one with a terminal illness.

Regardless, his confirmation felt like a punch to the gut. Like I had somehow been hoping it was fake. But it wasn't, it was real.

I exhaled, rubbing my temples, "I do know Harold. I just-" I broke off, a wave of exhaustion coming over me. "I wasn't prepared for this."

He nodded his head solemnly, his face creased with guilt, sadness filling his brown eyes. "They gave a year for tenants to relocate. Find a new place." He said, trying to cheer me up. "I really am sorry, kid. I wish I had more to give you, or something better to say."

I gave him a small, tired smile, "It's alright Harold. I would have done the same in your shoes." My mind was still racing. What am I going to do? How do I tell the guys?

I could barely keep the bakery afloat as is, how was I going to handle relocation?

Remembering I was still in Harold's apartment, and I couldn't have a breakdown in front of the old man, he already had enough on his plate. Sure enough, when I looked up, his grey brows were furrowed in worry.

I straightened, brushing off my spiraling thoughts for his sake. "Don't worry about me Harold, I'll be fine. I'll figure it out." The words felt hollow, but I forced a reassuring smile.

I was sure handing a lot of those out today.

"Send my love to Claire and Stacy." He gave me a small nod, following suit as I stood up, to walk me to the door. He patted my shoulder lightly before turning back into his apartment. I let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tightness in my chest.

That night, I just lay in bed awake, my thoughts tangled in worry and defeat.

...

The next morning, I got ready for work, my stomach still in a knot. As I made my way downstairs to the bakery, the air felt colder, a heaviness lingering in the air.

It was still early, the streets barely stirring. I had hoped for a few quiet moments to gather myself before opening. But when I got to the bakery's entrance, I saw Ollie standing just outside. Of all the days for him to come early, why did it have to be this?

He was staring at something in the window; his face was scrunched in confusion. My stomach twisted further as I got closer to him.

"Ollie?" I said, my voice came out cool, unlike the turmoil that was stirring in me.

He turned to me, his hand gesturing to a small piece of paper I hadn't even noticed, taped to the corner of our window-a crisp, white sheet bearing the unmistakable logo of Pierce Industries, an image I had replayed in my mind all night.

"Lottie is this for real?" he asked, his brow creasing as he glanced between the poster and me. Not being able to hide it anymore, I nodded, a solemn expression on my face. His eyes softened, and he reached out to wipe a tear that had fallen from my eye. I didn't even know I was crying.

"We'll get through this, Lottie. We'll figure it out." He smiled softly at me, opening the bakery door and holding it open for me. I sniffled, grateful for him, a small smile on my face.

Ollie always knew how to make me feel better, and he always knew the right words to say, even when he did not know what was going on.

As we prepared for the day, I braced myself to share the news with the rest of the staff when they arrived. Their reactions were the same when they saw the poster-shock, worry, and hesitant glances at me, searching for a sense of direction, but I was just as lost as they were.

The mood for the rest of the day was subdued, everyone in their thoughts. As the last customer for the day left and the bakery fell into silence, I looked at my staff, all looking at me with faith and worry. I gave them a reassuring smile and assured them everything would be fine as they all headed out.

Once alone, I looked around the bakery, and the thought of giving it up tore at me in a way I could not describe. I took a steadying breath, the finality of the thought I'd been nursing all day solidifying.

I wasn't going to give up this place. At least, not without a fight.