“Good afternoon, Carey,” Alessia greeted sweetly, her manners impable.
Carey beamed, nodding with obvious approval. “Well, aren’t you lovely? So polite, too. Brendan, is this your eldest daughter or your youngest?”
Brendan’s expression cooled just a fraction as he replied, “She’s my only daughter.” Years of holding a senior position had trained him to keep his emotions in check, and with Carey’s straightforward nature, she didn’t notice the subtle shift.
“Really?” Carey frowned, a vague sense of confusion nagging at her.
She remembered when the Morton family first moved in–they’d run into each other and exchanged a few brief words. Carey’s memory was of a group of well–mannered boys, bustling about, hauling boxes and helping with the move. There’d been only one girl, dressed in an expensive–looking dress with a wide, elegant sunhat perched on her head. That girl had stomped around, loudlyining about how rundown, dirty, and cramped the ce was. When she saw Carey, she just gave a dismissive snort and swept upstairs, radiating arrogance.
Carey couldn’t recall the girl’s face, just the impression she’d left–and it wasn’t a good one. But the girl standing here today seemed like apletely different
person.
Still, if Brendan said Alessia was his only daughter, there was no point dwelling on a puzzle with no answer.
“Carey, my mom made these seaweed rolls. Would you like to try one?” Alessia offered, handing Carey a fork and smiling softly in a way any adult would find endearing.
“Karen made these? Well, then, I have to give them a try.”
Alessia waited quietly while Carey tasted the food, and sure enough, the verdict was glowing.
“My mom’s thinking about setting up a food stall outside the school when sses start. She’s been looking for people to try her recipes. We all say they taste great, but she won’t believe us. Now that you’ve said so, I bet she’ll finally be convinced. Right, Dad?”
“Absolutely,” Brendan replied, father and daughter perfectly in sync.
“A food stall by the school? That’s a fantastic idea! There are so many kids around
here. Just the other day, a few of us–me, Abby, and the rest–wereining
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about having to get up early to make breakfast for our kids before school. Those rascals never want to eat at home, always running out to buy whatever junk they can find. Who knows how those ces make their food, with all the shady operations around these days. But will they listen to us? Never.”
With the topic on kids, Carey forgot all about taking the trash out. She drew her foot back andunched into a spirited rant about the trials of raising children, while Alessia listened with a gentle smile, chiming in now and then.
“How about youe over to our ceter, Carey? My mom’s upstairs right now making sandwiches, seaweed rolls, and even some tea eggs. She’d be thrilled if you stopped by.”
“Sounds wonderful!” Carey pped her thigh in delight.
“Why don’t you bring Abby and the others, too? If you like what you see, you can be our very first customers.”
“That would be great.” Alessia’s sweet words flowed naturally, and Carey was so delighted she nearly forgot the trash bag still in her hand. Even as she finally walked away, she kept ncing back, waving enthusiastically at Alessia.
Alessia stood by the doorway, waving until Carey disappeared from sight, then let her hand fall.
“Lessie, how did you know Carey had kids?” Brendan asked casually.
“I saw a blue backpack in her trash bag. The color’s pretty bright–adults don’t really use those, but elementary school kid’s do.”
Brendan nodded, impressed. “You’re a sharp one, Lessie.”
“I just set things up. Whether it works out or not, that’s up to Mom now.” Alessia winked, her expression lively and mischievous.
Brendan couldn’t help but chuckle, looking as if a weight had been lifted from his
shoulders.
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<b>Chapter </b><b>17 </b>
“Need a hand?<b>” </b>