The One Night(24)
“You had me at four weeks’ paid vacation and bonus structure.” She lets out a familiar chuckle.
“At least I know what will keep you around now.” I sigh deeply. “Okay, I should finish up some work before we head out tomorrow.” I push off the doorframe and head back into my office.
“Can I order you anything for dinner before I leave?” she asks, tailing after me.
I shake my head. “I have a protein bar in my desk drawer that’s been begging to be eaten all day.”
“Thrilling.” Her sarcasm seeps through, which it seems to do more often after hours. “I have a car coming to pick you up tomorrow, eight in the morning. I’ll have a breakfast burrito waiting for you.”
“You’re perfection. Thank you.” I wake up my computer by moving my mouse around. “See you in the morning.”
“Bye, Ford.” She takes off, and I turn to my computer, focusing on the emails in my in-box. The worst part of the job is sitting in front of me: answering questions from department heads. Oddly, I prefer the mundane tasks like numbers and projections, and I’m good at them.
So good at them that we’ll be opening fifty new stores in the coming year, which is the direct reason for the rebranding. We’ve stuck with the same storefront, color blend, and aesthetic ever since we franchised. Walking into one of our stores, you get a sense it’s slightly outdated, with its oak timber logs, forest-green linoleum floors, metal bracket shelving, mustard-yellow accents, and outdoor adventures from a photo shoot nearly fifteen years ago. The stores are successful, but they’re not capturing every consumer . . . like the young crowd. In order to keep up with the competition, which dominates the Gen Z market, we need to make sure we’re keeping the stores fresh. We have the funds to do so, but we need to make sure we have the right research and development in place to appeal to our customers and make them not just enjoy what they’re buying from Watchful Wanderers but to enjoy the experience as well.
Because if anything, the young crowd is always about the experience, something Larkin has been drilling into me since the moment we started the rebranding process.
After I’ve made a decent dent in my emails, my phone buzzes with a text message. Mom.
When I was seven and Cooper was five, our biological mom overdosed and our grandma became our legal guardian. We lived with her for a few months until she couldn’t physically take care of us anymore. At that point, we were placed into foster care. We bounced from house to house for a few more months until we met Peggy and Martin. The minute I met them, I knew—I knew we were going to be a family. I felt it in my soul. And after a year of living with them on Marina Island, a small island off the coast of Seattle, they sat us down and asked if we wanted to be a part of their family permanently.
I’m not one to be sentimental—I’m more logical than anything—but that hug, the one I gave my parents when they asked us to take their last name . . . yeah, I can still feel their arms wrapped around me. I can still smell Mom’s lavender perfume and hear Dad’s sniffs as he showed his true feelings that day. He gripped me by the cheeks, looked into my eyes, and told me that he would be honored to call me son.
From that day forward, I knew my life would be dedicated to thanking them for giving me a chance in life. And not only me but Cooper as well. Shortly after, Mom and Dad were surprised when they found out they were pregnant with Palmer. They didn’t think getting pregnant was an option for them, but life has a tricky way of throwing you for a loop. From a family of four, we became a blended family of five and have been ever since.
I open up Mom’s text and read it to myself.
Mom: What’s this I hear you’re not going to be staying with us? You know the Island’s Bed and Breakfast claims to have the best continental breakfast, but nothing beats my homemade pancakes. Are you really going to give up my fluffy, melt-in-your-mouth pancakes for a free continental breakfast of dry muffins and orange juice tainted with pulp?
Smiling to myself, I shake my head at her. Want to talk about a mama bear? Peggy Chance is the definition. She clings to every facet of her children’s lives. We were her goals, her aspirations, her fulfillment. While Dad was running the store, she was taking care of the home front, keeping us in line, dishing out responsibilities, and inserting herself into our lives in every possible way.
I type back to her.
Ford: Larkin will be with me. It would be weird for her to stay at the family house.
Mom: We have plenty of room. We can stick her in your room, and you can sleep on the couch.
Ford: My assistant sleeping in my childhood bed isn’t exactly what I would call professional.parents are very social humans. Unlike me, they have an extensive
Mom: Oh stop, Larkin is practically part of the family. I bet she’d love to see where you used to hide away when you were a teenager.
Ford: I’m sure she’d love to obtain any sort of knowledge when it comes to my teenage years to tease me with, but I’d prefer if I keep things professional. Plus, we have a lot of work to do. If we stayed with you, you’d be interrupting our meetings every half hour, on the hour to make sure we’re drinking enough water to make our pee clear.
Mom: Hydration is important, especially if you want to stay young looking. Which reminds me, have you started using that eye cream I sent you? You’re 36, prime time for having to use an eye cream. I already have Palmer using hers and she’s 27. You’re behind.