Anthony
By 4:00 PM, my back was an ache I couldn’t massage out, and my lungs felt like they were lined with confectioner’s sugar. But as I flipped the sign to Closed, a strange sense of triumph settled over me. We had survived.
The digital "ping" from the website had been a steady drumbeat all day. Jason Thorne’s plan to buy out our inventory had backfired; Myra’s efficiency in the kitchen meant we fulfilled his spite-order and still had enough to feed the literal busload of tourists who’d stopped in after seeing the "Wall of Hearts" on social media.
I walked into the kitchen, rubbing the back of my neck. Myra was at the deep sink, her sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a giant mixing bowl. Her ponytail was lopsided, and she had a smudge of flour on her cheek.
"The final count is in," she sa
