Chapter one

Nakiya �" November 17, 2023 

 

My eyes lightly opened, holding my hand out in front of my eyes hiding from the light peeking through my bedroom windows. I twisted my body, stretching and groaning in the process. I sit up, grabbing my phone off my nightstand and turning off all my alarms. I check the time: 5:07 a.m. I let out a breathy sigh, smacking my lips at the taste in my mouth and toss my phone toward the end of the bed, but I miscalculated due to being so tired�"my phone fell off the edge of my bed. 

I groan, wiping the crust from my eyes and pulling the covers from my lower body. 

I stand up and slightly lose my balance and place my feet in some nearby slippers. I cannot handle the chilly morning floors. I yawn and drag my feet to the bathroom, shouldering the door open. I take one long look in the mirror and chuckle at the white drool stain on my left cheek. 

“Ew,” I chuckle. 

I turn on the hot water, leaning over the sink to let my hands warm up. 

“Uhh,” a groan falls from my lips into the sink. This feels too good. I shake my hands sporadically. 

After a well-deserved morning routine 

I take another long look in the mirror and start smiling, paying attention to the color of my teeth. 

“Damn near perfect.” My tongue covers my two front teeth. 

I grab some moisturizer and rub it all in. Very aggressively. I slide my bonnet all the way off, revealing my freshly done braids. No fake hair, just natural shoulder-length braids�"but they are still cute though.  

I walk over to my walk-in closet and open my doors. The first thing I see is some dark wide long trousers that fit just above my ankles and a white short sleeve button-up blouse that’s unbuttoned at the top, revealing my collarbone tattoo. I had a wheat plant tattooed on me when I first bought my bakery as a gift to myself. 

I walk to my dresser to find socks and accessories. I grab some plain white ruffle socks, a gold star necklace, gold bangles, and some sun earring studs to pair. Oh, and did I not mention I got my nails done? Yes�"a nice short green ombré with gold designs, and they blend perfectly. I piece it together with some black strappy sandals with a 2-inch boost, making me like 5’9. 

I pose in front of my large mirror hanging in my bedroom, smiling as I trail my eyes over a masterpiece: “Me.” I smack my teeth. 

Closing my bedroom door, grabbing my crossbody bag and a black leather bomber jacket. As I walk past the kitchen to leave my house, a long desperate meow echoes through my kitchen. 

My cat, Nugget, walks up to me, rubbing against my leg. 

“Hey, Nugget, I forgot you existed. You must be hungry.” 

I crouch down to give Nugget, my Sphynx cat, some rubs. I let out a silent chuckle; he is in his cute waffle pajamas. 

I stand up, walk to my kitchen, grab some cat food from on top of my refrigerator, and pour some food for Nugget, making a kissing noise so he can follow me and give him some pets while he eats. I put the food back on my way out of the house. 

“Byeeee, Nugget,” I yell, opening my front door and closing it behind me. 

I walk down my porch, looking at the forest surrounding my house, and walk down my driveway, where my black Benz is�"my baby, my entire world. It took me a while to save up for her. 

“Crystal,” I mutter, rubbing my car door before I open it. Weird. She is Crystal because she is always clear and sparkling. 

I turn on the heat, sitting in silence, giving it a moment so Crystal can warm up. Then I pull off my driveway and head to work. 

I fidget with my phone, turning on some music, then setting it in the coffee holder. 

I lean back in my seat, letting the music take over me. 

I hum the tune and rest one hand on the wheel and one on the side of my head, leaning on the door for elbow support. 

I press the off-engine button and open my car door. 

I lock my car door from a distance and walk into Arbre à Sucre�"a Black-owned business. 

Owned by me. 

I laugh at the thought, knowing not knowing this would be my life ten years ago. 

No, I am not French. I am African American. I also do not know French, but I do like how “Sweet Tree” sounds in French. 

I grab my keys from my purse and walk in. I go straight to the back of my bakery and hang my purse and jacket on a coat rack. 

I grab an apron with my name on it and tie it in the back. 

Ever since I was a little girl, I loved cooking/baking. No matter how I got it, I was always mixing random ingredients. My mom told me before I was introduced to the amazing Cooking Channel. My personal favorite, though, was Hell’s Kitchen. I loved the competition and Chef Ramsay’s rude comments. My grandma used to teach me her favorite recipes and even passed down a sacred recipe book she had made with her mom. My personal favorite to cook with her, though, was her sweet lemon cake. The memories rush in and I smile to myself in an empty restaurant, not to mention it is also a favorite in my restaurant. Although I miss cooking with my grandma, this is for her. I know this would make her proud. She sadly passed in 2011 due to reasons I do not like thinking about. Something broke�"shattered�"in me. Although I put the pieces back together over time, I can still feel a piece of me lost somewhere in my heart, stabbing away. 

I am distracted from my thoughts as I hear the little bell from the bakery door ring open. 

“NAKI!” I hear Aki yell from the storefront. 

“AKIII!” I yell back. 

“Don’t forget to lock the door,” chuckling. I can hear him giggling and turning locks. 

Aki is a 16-year-old boy I met two years ago. He was in bad shape and hanging around bad crowds. Our first interaction: I was in a grocery store doing some shopping for my bakery when I saw this young boy�"Asian�"stuffing his pants with bread and snacks. I looked at him and shook my head. I was initially gonna mind my business, but something told me to check on him. Something did not feel right. 

“Hey, whatever you need, I will pay for it. You are too young to be doing stuff like this. Stealing bread? Are you hungry?” I ask him with worry in my voice. 

He looked startled. In between breaths, he says: 

“Please don’t tell on me,” he chokes. 

I crouch. 

“I’m hungry, please,” he cries. 

 

I pull him off his knees. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna tell. I want to help you. Here, put the stuff in my cart.” We walk to the clerk together, and I ring up some of his snacks, removing the bread he got because I have some at home. I had no intentions of taking him to my house, but he told me he is homeless, occasionally breaking into abandoned buildings. He showers in my guest room, and I give him some old clothes I do not wear anymore. I am tomboyish, so he will be fine. After that, I cooked him a warm meal and tried to make him talk, but all he said was “Thank you,” occasionally looking around. After a while, trying to pick at him, asking questions… 

But still nothing. I gave up. He finishes his meal, places his dish gently in my sink, then tries to walk out. I gently grab his arm and accidentally lift his sleeve�"and the horrors I saw bruises. Scars from knives. He snatches away and opens my door. 

After that, I do not let him leave. Instead, I make a bed in the guest room and tell him to stay the night and then he can talk when he is ready. 

“Thank you,” he mutters, not looking up. 

I nod understandingly. 

The next morning during breakfast, everything came out: his name and age, his terrible mom and stepfather. It was horrible. His evil mom got custody by lying on his father�"the parent that cared about him. I consoled him, “I will make sure you see your dad again,” and rubbed his shoulder. 

He tears up, rubbing his eyes aggressively, trying to hide that he is tired and broken. 

“You can stay here as long as you want, help yourself to anything” I say walking to my bedroom trying to give him space 

He looks at me trying to find the sincerity in my eyes. He gets up and pulls me into a hug and squeezes. 

He stayed with me for two months while I hired a lawyer to fight for Aki and his dad to get custody. Spoiler alert: Aki’s dad got custody, and Aki moved in with his dad and stepsister. But his dad needed financial help, so I told Aki he can work with me�"legally, of course. I worked by myself, so Aki was my business partner. My heart. My little brother. 

My thoughts rid when Aki walks to the back where the kitchen is and we start prepping for opening�"baking and mixing. I am working on the cake, and Aki is icing them. 

Me and Aki bring the freshly made desserts to the display counter, and then I give him the honor of flipping the open sign. It is now 9 a.m., and we are open for business. 

Soon enough, customers start coming in. And when it is not busy, I let Aki do some homework or watch movies on the comfortable couch in the bakery. 

The lemon cake and fall pies are flying off the shelf because it is fall season�"you know, apple pie, pumpkin pie, etc. 

After a boring morning of people coming in and out, one peculiar-looking young man walked in. 

He just looked special, you know? 

I look him up and down thinking I’m slick admiring his coat “Hello, what can I serve you today?” 

He smiles showing a bright smile,” its vintage” I furrow my brows “I am sorry?” I ask confusingly. “My jacket, its thrifted just got it” he tilts his head slightly  

“Oh well it is nice” I swear my cheeks were so hot they could have melted right away 

He chuckled at my failed “playing it cool look.” 

Damn 

“Uhh, can I get a lemon cake for my friend and uhh, I’m new�"can you give me some recommendations?” he says as if he is questioning himself. 

I laugh. 

“A customer favorite is�"” 

He cuts me off. 

“No, what’s your favorite?” 

“Um, well,” I stutter, and a smile stretches across his dark toned cheeks. “My personal favorite is the lemon cake and salted caramel cheesecake, but I do recommend the fall pies.” I point tothem in the display case. 

“Unt unt. Lemme get one lemon cake and one slice of salted caramel cheesecake. Thank you,” he completely disregards the fall pies. 

“Alright, one lemon cake and a salted caramel slice,” I say. 

I investigate the display glass. 

Damn. 

“We are out of stock of the lemon cake, sir. So sorry about that.” 

“S**t, I was really looking forward to that.” 

“Lemme double-check if there’s anymore, okay, sir?” 

He nods, leaning over the counter, watching me go to the back. 

His eyes burn through my back. I almost trip at the thought. I open the warm oven, where Aki stashes dishes, he is saving for the end of the day for me. Aw, he is so sweet. He always puts lemon cake in there knowing it is my favorite and customers waste no time buying it. 

I grab the only slice of lemon cake. 

Still warm. 

I walk back to the front and box the cake for him. 

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much�"” he pauses, looking at my name tag, reading it like it’s in braille. 

“Nuh-kie-uh,” I sound out for him. 

“Thank you, Nakiya.” 

“No problem, and for the inconvenience�"next time you come back, free dessert on the house.” 

“That will be 13.25�"cash or card?” I add. 

“Card. And thank you, I really appreciate that.” 

“My name is Jenue, by the way,” he tells me. 

“Nice to meet you, Jenue. I hope to see you again,” I add a charming smile. 

He pays and walks out, looking back one more time before he leaves. 

He seems very chill and is living life to the fullest. I do not know how to explain it, but he looks down for whatever thrilling experience is thrown at him, and honestly, me too. 

I really do hope I see him again. 

I flop on one of the couches in the bakery and look at the vintage clock in one of the corners and read 8:09. I tilt my head back. “Finally, closing time.” My voice echoes in the now empty shop that was once filled with laughter and conversation. 

Aki’s dad picked him up two hours ago. 

I drag my feet to the back and hang up my apron in return for my jacket and bag, shut everything down and evaluate everything in my head. Luckily, most desserts were flying off the shelves�"but I grab the ones that don’t. I take home and give to neighbors or friends, but if I saw some homeless people I would hand out. But luckily there is usually no homeless people; this would be considered a decent area, and most people are housed, but I pray for the ones that are not. 

I unlock my car door after locking the bakery’s doors and completely drop in my car and let my feet hang out the open door and put the desserts in the passenger seat. 

I lay there for a second, almost falling asleep, but pull myself together and close my car door and begin my journey home. 

Tapping the steering wheel to some soft jazz. 

I enter my home, and I am greeted by Nugget’s meow from the couch. He sits there, and I turn some cooking channels on, and he watches while I am gone. Spoiled brat. 

“Hey, Nugget, I missed you too.” 

I peel off my clothes and toss them into the nearby laundry basket, pulling on something loose, still raw from the day, and sinking beside Nugget on the couch. 

After a while, the brightness of the television blinds me. The noise tucks itself into the corners of my brain. It aches. 

The need to be in the dark becomes overwhelming. I grip my hair. My stomach tightens. 

Author's Note

Let me know anything on your mind. Did you enjoy it? Is it interesting? Is the ending making you curious to the next chapter? How is pacing? Be blunt.