Chapter 2

The day the Local Business Council came to film a promo, Dad made a special trip to get Alex a new apron with the shop's logo on it.

At nine in the morning, the cameraman set up his camera at the entrance and asked who knew the ins and outs of the shop best.

Dad pulled Alex right in front of the camera. "Film him. This is my son; he's going to take over the shop one day."

Alex didn't even know how to turn off the coffee machine. When the cameraman asked how many pounds of flour we used each day, Alex froze, stood there watching me.

I whispered through the oven, "One hundred and twenty pounds on weekdays, one hundred and fifty on weekends."

Alex instantly repeated it to the camera.

The cameraman asked, "Are you also in charge of ordering supplies and managing costs?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah, sort of. I've been learning since summer break started."

Dad grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Boys pick things up quick. He's only been around a few days and already got the hang of it."

I lugged two bags of flour past the camera, my shoes ringed in white from the powder spilling out of the back storage room.

After the shoot, Ross Cooper, the flour supplier, came by to drop off the order slip.

He looked a bit surprised when he heard Alex was now handling the supply orders. "Wasn't Emily the one who used to go over the orders with me? She caught the batch that was damp last month and had it sent back."

Dad took the slip and shrugged as he explained. "She helps out with the paperwork. Alex's the one learning how to run things. Girls, you know, once they're done with school, they'll start their own families."

Ross glanced at me but didn't say anything.

Mom shoved a stack of takeout orders into my hands. "Quit standing around. Go deal with those refunds from this morning. The promo video's dropping this afternoon, so help Alex choose some nice pics."

After the video was posted in the Business Network Group, my aunt, Grace White, was the first to repost it in the family chat group.

The title read: [Seventeen-year-old takes over his father's pie shop, learns about his parents' hard work during summer break.]

Everyone was quick to say how mature Alex was.

Gary White, my uncle, dropped a comment: [Alex is really capable. Emily's helping out at the shop, too, right?]

Mom replied: [She only helps out occasionally. Alex's the one really getting the hang of things.]

I stared at the word occasionally on the screen, my finger frozen above the refund button, unable to press it.

For six years, I remembered which construction site settled up on Wednesdays, which neighborhood ordered extra coffee on Fridays, and that Ross's flour arrived half an hour late when it rained.

It turned out that all that was occasionally in their eyes.

That evening, Dad showed the promo video to some regulars.

One of them recognized me and laughed, "Isn't that the girl who's always the first one here? I come for breakfast at five in the winter, and she's already making pie."

Dad waved his hand dismissively. "She's only tagging along. She's too slow; when things get hectic, it's still up to us to get things done."

I was carrying a tray of steaming hot coffee when my feet faltered for a second.

The steam from the cups stung my eyes. I set the tray down and murmured to Dad, "Dad, the construction site ordered four hundred pies for tomorrow. We'll have to start baking at three."

"Yeah, yeah. Make sure you show up early," he said.

"I need to swing by school tomorrow to pick up my student records," I told him.

"How long could that take? Prep the filling before you go," Dad replied.

Mom backed Dad up. "Your dad already promised them. You can't back out now. The school's not going anywhere if you're a little late."

I started to protest, but nodded in the end.

The next day, I showed up at the shop at three like always.

By the time I finished baking the four hundred pies, it was almost nine.

When I got to school, the records office had barely closed.

The security guard told me the teacher was out for a meeting and I'd have to come back next week.

On my way back to the shop, Aunt Grace sent me a screenshot.

The Local Business Council was running a Hardworking Youth contest, and Alex had made the shortlist.

In the photo, he was wearing a brand-new apron, his hand resting on the yellow timesheet ledger.

Behind the ledger were the four hundred pies I'd spent all night packing.