The opening was on a Saturday.
Aria arrived at five thirty in the morning.
Not because she needed to — Phil had confirmed everything was ready Wednesday, the suppliers had delivered Thursday, she'd done a full walkthrough Friday afternoon and found nothing that needed fixing. She arrived at five thirty because she couldn't sleep and the bakery was where she needed to be.
She unlocked the door in the dark Queens morning and stepped in.
Turned on the lights.
Stood in the middle of the finished bakery and looked at it properly for the first time as a complete thing — the counter, the display cases, the two chairs by the window, the radio on its bracket, the dark green sign with gold lettering visible through the glass from the street outside.
Bennett Bakery Supplies.
Her father's name
