Chapter 5

  Negotiations and hardwork

  Im halfway through the leaning tower of plates when the front door slams open hard enough to rattle the windows.

  "I’m here! I’m here!" a young man’s voice calls—breathless, like he ran the whole way.

  I glance up just in time to see him—tall, lanky, wearing an apron identical to yours and looking very confused. His eyes flick from you to the sink, then narrow.

  "Uh… what the hell are you doing?" he demands, marching over.

  "Washing dishes," you reply flatly, flicking some suds off your fingers.

  "Yeah, my dishes! This is my job!" he snaps, shoving his hands on his hips. "Who even are you?"

  Before you can answer, the shopkeeper bursts back in from the kitchen, arms full of steaming bread loaves.

  *"Oh, there you are!" she says to the lanky man. Then she eyes the two of you, frowning. "Wait…"

  The realization dawns in her eyes, but before either of you can speak, she just mutters, "Well, least the work’s half done," and storms off again to deal with customers.

  You and the real employee just stare at each other for a beat before he throws his arms up.

  "Whatever. Just… finish that plate," he grumbles, grabbing a towel and taking over the drying rack.*

  You rinse the last plate in your hands, setting it carefully in the rack before glancing at the lanky guy beside you. His scowl has softened into more of a begrudging annoyance than actual anger.

  "You know," you say with a chuckle, "I get why she grabbed me. We do kinda look alike."

  He snorts, shaking his head as he wipes down a mug. "Yeah, if you squint and forget I’ve been working here for three years." He glances toward the kitchen door, lowering his voice. "That’s Hesta for you. Runs the place like a war camp when it’s busy. Guess I should thank you for taking the blast instead of me."

  You shrug, leaning against the counter for a moment. "Wasn’t exactly voluntary."

  "Yeah, neither was my first day," he says with a crooked grin. "Walked in to buy bread, walked out with an apron. And here I am."

  There’s a brief pause before he adds, "Name’s Tolan, by the way."

  "Lux," you say, offering a small nod as you wipe your hands on the apron. "Guess we’re both victims of circumstance, huh?"

  *Tolan smirks. "Yeah, welcome to Springvale. That’s basically the city motto—get pulled into something you didn’t sign up for and hope you come out the other side with all your fingers."

  *He stacks the last of the mugs, then leans against the counter. "Well, lux, since you’ve already put in some free labor, might as well let me buy you a drink later. Not much of a thank-you, but it beats walking away empty-handed."

  Through the kitchen door, Hesta’s voice rings out again, barking orders to someone unseen. Tolan winces. "Or, uh… maybe we take that drink somewhere far away from here."

  Tolan blinks at you, like he’s not sure he heard that right.

  "Wait… you’re actually asking her for—"

  "I worked for an hour," you cut in, crossing your arms. "I need an hour’s wages."

  From the kitchen, Hesta reappears with a tray of steaming pastries, her expression already set to “busy and not in the mood.”

  Tolan wisely steps back a pace as you plant yourself in front of her.

  "Hesta," you say firmly, "I filled in for your missing employee—" you jerk a thumb at Tolan, who raises both hands like he wants no part of this "—for a full hour. That’s an hour’s work. I think it’s fair I get an hour’s pay."

  Her eyes narrow, and for a second you think she’s going to laugh you right out the door. Instead, she sets the tray down with a thud, reaches into her apron pocket, and slaps something into your palm.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  A small, round bread roll—still warm.

  "There," she says flatly. "Your wage. Now get out of my kitchen before you start asking for health benefits."

  Tolan is already biting back a laugh as you stare at the roll in your hand.

  Tolan’s muffled snicker turns into a cough as you stare down at the warm roll in your palm.

  "…Bread," you mutter slowly, looking back up at Hesta. "You gave me actual bread for my work. I said I wanted money. Coins. Wages."*

  Hesta doesn’t even blink. She folds her arms, flour dusting the front of her apron like a badge of authority.

  "Coins are for employees," she says, tilting her head toward Tolan. "You? You’re just some fella I found loitering outside. You got food in your hand and a dry shirt on your back, which is more than a lot of folks get for an hour’s work around here. Consider yourself paid."

  *Tolan leans on the counter, grinning.

  "She’s got you there, ‘lux.’"

  Hesta shoos you toward the door with a sharp wave. "Go on, out. I’ve got real staff to manage."

  I find myself outside a moment later, bread still in hand, the smells of the bakery trailing after you.

  I stand there on the street for half a heartbeat, the warm bread roll in your hand, before your jaw tightens.

  "No. No, this isn’t right."

  I spin on my heel, push the door open hard enough to jingle the little brass bell like it owes you money, and march back inside.

  Tolan’s head pops up from behind the counter, eyes wide in that oh no, he’s actually doing it way. Hesta turns from arranging a tray of pies, her brows arching like she’s already bracing for your nonsense.

  "Back again, are we?" she says, her voice all tired patience.

  "Yeah," i shoot back, holding the bread roll up like Exhibit A in court. "This? This isn’t payment. I worked in your kitchen for an hour. I want wages. Coins. Not—" i? shake the roll slightly for emphasis "—breakfast."

  Hesta sets the tray down with a sigh that could flatten a building. "Listen, boy—"

  "Lux," i interject sharply.

  "—lux," she continues, not missing a beat, "you walked in here of your own free will—"

  "No, you dragged me in here—"

  "—and you worked for me without any agreement on pay. That means I get to decide what your time was worth. I decided it was worth bread. If you don’t like it, there’s the door." She points to it like she’s shooing a stray cat.

  *Tolan mutters under his breath, "She’s not gonna budge, mate."

  I plant my feet, holding the bread roll like it’s evidence in a trial.

  "You dragged me in here," i say, my voice steady but edged. "Then, when I tried to tell you I wasn’t who you thought, you told me not to be lazy and to get to work. So no, this wasn’t me volunteering. You owe me money. Not—" you give the bread roll another emphatic shake "—this."

  Hesta freezes for half a second, her eyes narrowing just enough to show you’ve struck a nerve. The room feels a little quieter—Tolan’s leaned forward on the counter, watching like it’s the best show in town.

  "Owe you?" she repeats slowly, almost testing the word. Then she sets her hands on her hips, leaning forward until you can smell the flour and cinnamon on her breath. "Boy, you’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. But spirit doesn’t mean I’m opening my till for a stranger who wandered in off the street."

  Tolan tries, and fails, to smother a grin. "He’s not wrong, though, Hesta."

  She cuts him a glare sharp enough to silence him instantly, then turns back to me.

  "You want coins? Fine. Prove you’re worth them. One more hour—real work this time—and I’ll pay you in proper money. Or take the bread and walk."

  I glance at Tolan, then back to Hesta, and jab a finger in his direction.

  "I’ll do it," you say, "but I want double what you’d pay him."

  Tolan’s eyebrows shoot up. "Whoa—hold on—"Hesta blinks at you, then lets out a short, sharp laugh. "Double?" She gestures at Tolan without looking at him. "You have any idea how much this one makes in an hour?"

  "Not enough," Tolan mutters.

  "Exactly," Hesta says. She leans against the counter, sizing you up with a look halfway between amusement and challenge. "Tell you what, lux—if you can clear and wipe every table in this place before the midday rush, and keep up with the dishes, I’ll pay you double his rate for the hour. Fail, and you get nothing—not even the bread."

  Tolan leans over, smirking. "Careful, mate. She’s setting you up to sweat."

  I smirk, leaning one elbow on the counter like i’ve already won.

  "An hour? Please. I could do it in half and still have time to teach him—" you jerk your thumb at Tolan "—how to keep up."

  Tolan lets out an incredulous laugh. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

  Hesta’s grin is all teeth now, the kind a predator shows when the prey just walked into the trap. "Alright then, big talker. The clock starts… now."

  She claps her hands once, and the sound of the bustling café suddenly feels louder—plates clinking, chairs scraping, customers talking over each other. Every table seems to have crumbs, empty mugs, or half-eaten pastries scattered about.

  Tolan leans in just enough for you to hear him over the noise. "Don’t trip over your ego, lux. It’s bad for business."

  An hour later, you’re leaning against the counter, chest rising and falling like i just ran a marathon. Your shirt’s damp from steam and dishwater, your hands smell faintly of lemon soap, and there’s a suspicious crumb stuck to your sleeve.

  Every table in the place gleams, the dishes are stacked in neat towers, and not a single customer was left waiting long enough to complain. A few even nodded at you in that subtle, approving way regulars do when they recognize competence.

  Hesta stands in the middle of the café, arms folded, surveying the spotless tables like a general inspecting her troops. Finally, she looks at you, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of something almost like respect in her eyes.

  "Well, I’ll be damned," she mutters. "Didn’t think you’d pull it off. Guess I owe you."

  She pulls a small leather purse from her apron, fishes out a handful of coins, and slaps them into your palm. The weight feels good—real. Enough to buy a night at The Lantern’s Rest and still have change left over.

  Tolan, leaning in the doorway, gives you a mock bow. "Congrats, lux. You just made more in an hour than I do in two. Don’t suppose you’re looking to take my job?"