Hawk Tuah For The White Boy

Chapter 1

Layla

I glance at the clock on the wall, its ticking matching the rapid beat of my heart. It's almost noon, and I haven't sold a single cupcake. 

Myshop, Sweet Dreams, used to be the heart of this neighborhood. Now it's just another storefront struggling to keep its lights on in a gentrified landscape.

"Morning, Layla," Mrs. Jenkins calls out as she walks in, her smile a comforting sight. She's been a regular since my grandma opened this place fifty years ago.

"Morning, Mrs. Jenkins. The usual or should we switch it up?" I ask, already reaching for a lemon lavender cupcake, one of my newer flavors that hasn't quite caught on yet.

“Oh Layla, you know I’m an old woman set in her ways. Usual it is,” she says with a kind smile.

Her order never changes, despite my best efforts. One Bourbon Pecan Pie cupcake for herself, and a Lavender Vanilla cupcake for her sister who she visits at the nursing home.

I begin packing up her cupcakes as she’s peering over her glasses at the display case. 

"How's business been?"

I force a smile. "Oh, you know. It's... interesting."

She frowns. "Interesting isn't good."

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. "Not always."

Just as I hand her the cupcakes and bid her farewell, the door swings open with a loud jingle. A lone man strides in—tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of authority that immediately fills the room. He's wearing a suit that probably costs more than my entire month's rent, and judging by the look on his face, I highly doubt he’s here to indulge in a snickerdoodle cupcake.

"Who's that?" Mrs. Jenkins whispers.

"No idea," I whisper back before straightening up and plastering on my best customer-service smile.

“Hello, and welcome to Sweet Dreams, what can I get for you?” I do my best to smile confidently, despite the weird feeling I have deep in the bit of my stomach.

He approaches the counter, his gaze scanning the shop before landing on me. "Layla?"

"That's me," I say, trying to ignore how his deep voice sends shivers down my spine.

"I'm Marcus Reed," he says, extending a hand. His grip is firm and confident—just like him.

"What can I do for you, Marcus?" I ask, pulling my hand back and wiping it on my apron.

He doesn't waste any time with pleasantries. "I'm here on behalf of your landlord to discuss your lease."

My stomach drops. I make my way around the counter to stand in front of him. "What's there to discuss? I've already talked to the landlord."

"I’m aware, but he's decided to sell the building." 

He says it like it's just another business transaction for him—nothing personal.

"Sell? But I've been paying rent on time!" Panic edges into my voice despite my efforts to stay calm.

Mrs. Jenkins places a comforting hand on my shoulder but stays silent.

Marcus nods slowly, as if he understands but doesn't care. "He received an offer too big to refuse."

"Who would buy this place?" My voice cracks slightly.

"I’m not at liberty to discuss that," His eyes lock onto mine, unwavering.

For a moment, I'm speechless. Then anger bubbles up inside me. 

"This can't be happening. Someone can’t just come in here and take away everything my family has worked for!"

My mind races. This guy can't just waltz in here and drop a bombshell like this. I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

"So, there’s no way around this? I’m losing my shop?" I cross my arms, mimicking his stance.

Marcus raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks around my quaint little shop. 

"Well, unless you have the funding to buy it."

"Do you watch the news?" I challenge, my voice sharp. "Do you think anyone in this day and age has the funding to just up and buy a building? There are people that can barely manage to put food on the table. Then people like you swoop in and want to steamroll over a staple in this town just to turn it into some boujee organic juice bar with adoptable cats roaming around.”

He chuckles. "You have quite the imagination."

"And you have quite the nerve," I snap back, glaring at him.

I roll my eyes, turning to grab one of my latest creations from the display case—a maple bacon cupcake. I place it in front of him with a flourish. 

"Take this to the landlord, tell him it's on the house."

His eyebrow quirks up again as he looks at the cupcake, then back at me. "You think a cupcake's going to change his mind?"

"No," I say sweetly. "But it'll give him a taste of what he’s about to destroy."

He picks up the cupcake, examining it like he's never seen one before.

"Smells good, right?" I can't help but feel a tiny bit smug.

"It does," he admits. "But it won’t change anything, money sometimes speaks louder than one’s conscience."

"Of course, how could I forget," I reply sarcastically. "Because why would something as trivial as people's livelihoods matter to a money hungry…"

"Layla," Mrs. Jenkins interjects softly, giving me a look that says 'be careful.'

I sigh and turn back to Marcus. He slides a crisp envelope across the table. My name, written in bold, elegant script, catches my eye. My fingers tremble as I tear it open.

“Read it, it has all the necessary information,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind.

I stand there, hoping that I might hear the distant shrill ring of my alarm clock waking me up and this will all be a dream.

“Mrs. Layla?” 

The voice of the doomsday deliverer reorients me back to reality. 

“I have to go, my contact information is inside if you need to reach me. Have a great day,” he says with a smile. 

He turns and casually walks out of the shop like he didn’t just send my whole world into a spiral. 

“Layla honey,” Mrs. Jenkins says. “You should probably open it and see what it says.”

My shaking hands begin to open the folder. The words on the paper blur for a moment before coming into focus. 

My breath hitches. “Eviction notice.”

“Okay, go on, what else does it say?” Mrs. Jenkins replies.

“I have thirty days?” I echo, my voice rising. “And the new projected owner is asking triple the rent of what I pay now.”

“Oh honey,” Mrs. Jenkins says as she pulls me in for a hug. Her soft embrace makes me miss my grandmother terribly.

“This can’t be happening.” I grip the edge of the counter to steady myself. “This place is all I have.”

 “I understand this is difficult,” Mrs. Jenkins says with a kind smile. “But sometimes, change is inevitable. You just have to trust that the destination in the end is worthwhile.”

“I’ll find a way,” I say fiercely, more to myself than to her. “I won’t let Sweet Dreams die.”

“Now that’s the girl I know.” Mrs. Jenkins smiles sweetly while grabbing my hand. “I must be going now, Alice gets grumpy if she doesn’t get her cupcake before bingo.”

With one last look over her shoulder, she walks out the door. With her exit, a sense of determination fills me. This bakery means everything to me—no money hungry tyrant will take it away without a fight.

I look around Sweet Dreams, inhaling the familiar scents of sugar and vanilla that have comforted me since childhood. My grandmother’s photo on the wall seems to smile down at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief and hope.

“I promise,” I whisper to her image, “I’ll save this place.”