Tony
I watched her from the kitchen door, my heart doing that slow, heavy roll it always did when she was nearby. Myra was sitting at Table Four—the one with the best light and the most persistent wobble—and she had transformed it into her personal corporate command center. She wore a charcoal blazer that looked like it cost more than the bakery’s monthly flour budget.
Ten years, but she still put on a very convincing front. Dressing like a man, with no color, sitting like a rigid statue.
In high school she'd kept her hair short and “butch”, which added fuel to the rampant rumors that she was a lesbian. Add to that the fact that she was super-smart, very competitive, and an expert at hiding her emotions behind a cold mask, naturally she had intimidated every guy in town.
Even me.
Now
