He handled her problem overnight. Then he locked the bakery door.
He’s been my 6 AM regular for three months. Black coffee, blueberry muffin, corner table. He never smiles and I put a smiley face on every cup anyway because I am who I am.
Someone was threatening my bakery. I mentioned it to my regular the way you say things into the dark — not expecting an answer. He wasn’t there the next morning. Or the next. The messages stopped.
On the third morning he was back at the corner table. "It’s handled." Like that was nothing.
Then he locked the front door, walked into my kitchen, and his phone rang while I was still on the prep counter. He took the call without pulling out. I have since revised several assumptions I had about the word handled.
