S C O R E DAY
your specialty cakes. I believe —” “Oh yeah, I know it!” he interjected, grinning wider. “We don’t make too many of them these days. Big one!” He turned to shout through the saloon door behind him, “Hey Joey, that cake all boxed up? Customer’s here!” Mike turned back to face Angela, smile intact. “Fun one to make. I usually don’t get to help decorate, but this one’s so big they let me help mix and spread a bit. We don’t really do much in the way of cakes nowadays, I guess,” he continued, his smile finally diminishing somewhat as his eyes drifted from her to the middle distance. “Cakes are fun to make, but people don’t buy ‘em much. We still do a great trade with people buying bread here in the Warren, though. That’s what people need! And we give it to ‘em.” His eyes brightened again. “I’m real lucky, too. We’re lucky. Working with our hands, giving people what they need — it does a heart good. Not everybody’s got that. Lucky to have this business handed down. Been in the family a long time,” he nodded sagely, renewing eye contact. “Enzo Amici was my great-grandfather,” he explained. Just then, Joey backed into the room through the saloon doors, holding an enormous box in front of him. Setting in on the counter, he smiled at Angela. “Some cake! She all settled up, Mikey? We can help load it for you.” Side by side, it was clear that the two men were clearly related, either brothers or cousins. “Yes, I paid when I ordered — you should find it in your system, there,” she gestured toward the tablet on the countertop. “It’s under ‘Fairchild.’” As Mike scrolled to confirm, Joey’s brow furrowed. “Say, Fairchild…like Fairchild Logistics?” Her body went stiff, a cold tingle running up her spine. This is why she never came into town anymore, she realized.
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