Anthony
I stayed in the kitchen for as long as I could, focusing on the rhythmic thrum of the stand mixer and the intense heat of the ovens. It was safer back here. Out there, Myra was vibrating with a kind of righteous fury that usually preceded a corporate takeover—or a breakdown.
Watching her defend MacKenzie had been like watching a mirror reflect a mirror. She was protecting her younger self, even if she was currently at the register trying to balance the books to prove she hadn't "gone soft."
I wiped my hands on my apron and leaned against the doorframe, watching her through the order window. The "Ice Queen" was back, her movements sharp and efficient as she rang up a dozen donuts for a guy who’d trudged three blocks in snowshoes. But every few seconds, her eyes flickered toward t
