The Day After the Historic Resignation
Call me some more.
The day after the historic resignation.
My eyes snapped open right at the hour I usually woke for work.
“······.”
Even though I had deliberately turned off the alarm, it was strange how my eyes still popped open on schedule out of pure habit.
I debated lying there a little longer beside the baby, who was still fast asleep, then quietly got up, did a quick round of jump rope out on the terrace, and washed up.
These days, the only time I could do anything outside Luca’s “surveillance” was while he was sleeping.
I rushed through my shower, half-afraid he might wake and cry in the meantime, but my worry proved pointless—Luca was still snoring away, dead to the world.
You little rascal. Someone quit his job because of you, and you’re sleeping like a baby without a care in the world?
I planted kisses on him, equal parts affection and mild indignation, and gently shook him awake.
“Luca, wake up.”
Peck, peck.
“Wake up and eat. Come on, our Luca, time to get up.”
Peck!
I kissed both cheeks in turn, took his little hands, and rocked them side to side until Luca’s eyes half-opened.
“Eh···.”
“Aww, you’re so sleepy···.”
“Heh···.”
The baby’s tiny smile, mouth softly open, was almost too cute to handle.
After breakfast I lay on my side with Luca on the wicker daybed out on the terrace.
It was summer, but the still-cool morning breeze teased through my hair.
“Wow, not going to work feels amazing. What do you think, Luca? Right? Yeah?”
“Eung···!”
Luca answered with a bright, sunny grin.
“Aww, our Luca. Always so good at answering.”
“Kyaaa···!”
I gave his little sides a light squeeze and he twisted, laughing.
“No, no. You’ll bring breakfast back up.”
To head off that very real disaster I sat up at once and settled Luca against me so he was sitting too.
“Alright, time to work with Daddy.”
“Aaa?”
Cradling the baby, I opened the new tablet I’d bought recently and started browsing dessert recipes I had never tried before.
“Let’s see···. Gala···cto···boureko···.”
“Eo···.”
“Yeah, boureko···.”
Honestly the name seemed harder than the recipe itself.
Galaktoboureko was a Greek custard pie served with syrup. The texture looked closer to pudding than pie.
“And next···. Oh, this one looks easier, Luca. Want to try this today? Lemonopita.”
“Aaa···!”
Lemonopita was a Greek dessert packed with yogurt, lemon juice, lemon zest, and finely shredded phyllo.
Calling it “easy-looking” might have been a lie. Making those paper-thin sheets of phyllo pastry was the kind of job you wouldn’t even joke about being simple.
If I’d tried it with my original skills I would have failed spectacularly.
But···.
A couple of hours later, a sweet fragrance filled the whole house, and a soft, golden-brown-topped, pale-yellow dessert that looked thoroughly delicious sat finished on the counter.
“···Golden Hand forever, Luca. This is gonna be so good, right?”
“Eung···.”
“But our Luca can’t eat it yet.”
“Eee···!”
“It’s way too sweet. Looks like Daddy will just have to eat the whole thing himself.”
“Boo···.”
“Haha.”
The reason for making Greek desserts was obvious.
Tomorrow I would casually offer Dimitri a taste and see if I could land a chance to supply desserts to his pub.
Now that I no longer worked at a company, I needed something else to fill those hours.
Honestly, extending my dessert deliveries by one more day to James on the first floor—someone I already did business with—would have been better than traveling all the way to Lemon Soup.
He’d said two days a week was plenty, but I still felt a little unsatisfied.
“···Still, you never know. Should we take this downstairs, Luca?”
“Abubu···!”
I slipped tiny socks that fit his feet perfectly onto the baby who was laughing as if he understood every word, then put the little bonnet I’d knitted from sky-blue yarn on his head.
I combed my own hair neatly and changed into decent clothes.
···Looking like an unemployed bum would be bad form.
Not that I actually was unemployed—I was making money in several ways—but not being at work at this hour still left me feeling oddly restless.
“Up we go.”
I strapped on the baby carrier and lifted him; Luca laughed and kicked his feet.
Peck.
“Aww, so cute. Our Luca, you that happy to go downstairs?”
“Eee···.”
Carrying the neatly boxed Lemonopita, I left the apartment for the café on the first floor.
If I could just add one more delivery day it would be perfect.
Of everything I could do right now, it was the least stressful and gave the best return on investment.
Most people subtract ingredient costs from labor and call the rest pure profit, but for me the points stacked up exactly equal to the ingredient cost, so I came out ahead twice over.
Ding-a-ling.
“Oh, Jun! What brings you by at this hour? What about work?”
“Haha. Hello, James. Actually···.”
Lunch rush had just ended, so James lit up at the new dessert I’d brought.
He insisted on making coffee so we could taste it together.
I told the kind, bright-eyed older man the story of quitting my job.
When I finished explaining everything, James let out a long sigh.
“Honestly, people with zero empathy···.”
“Sure, I might have looked annoying to them. But couldn’t they have cut me a little slack? I mean, I did my work properly every single day···.”
We chatted for so long that I finally noticed Luca, mouth open, sound asleep against my chest.
Great, Daddy was so busy talking he didn’t even realize you’d dozed off.
I stroked the baby’s back and James smiled.
“Now that you mention it, the little master was awfully quiet today. At least he didn’t cry when he saw me, right?”
“Right? He cries if he can’t see me, but he doesn’t cry just from seeing a stranger.”
He didn’t cry, but he would go quiet and stare at the other person as if carefully studying them. A little tense, maybe.
Once I was chatting freely with that person, though, he usually relaxed.
“Anyway, so I had time to kill and tried a new dessert. What do you think? Think this would sell here?”
“Do you even have to ask? Of course it will!”
James said so while scraping up every last crumb of the remaining Lemonopita.
“Yeah···. Haha.”
And yet he still didn’t suggest adding another delivery day.
Hmm. The shop only had so much space. Two days really must have been enough.
I was just swallowing the mild disappointment and about to stand when James clapped his hands as if something had just occurred to him.
“If you end up with some free time, how about meeting Evan together?”
···Who’s Evan?
I paused, wondering if I’d forgotten someone important, and James added,
“Your second-floor neighbor. Looks like you haven’t introduced yourselves yet.”
“···Ah, right.”
James chuckled.
“You’ll be seeing each other as neighbors from now on. Why not take this chance and finally accept his invitation for a cup of tea?”
“Haha···.”
Ever since that first awkward run-in here, that strange man had offered me tea every single time we crossed paths in the café.
I had refused every time.
And after James told me the guy bought every single dessert I delivered without fail, I avoided him even more thoroughly.
Simply put, I just didn’t like him.
But James’s next words made me wonder if I should soften my stance this time.
“I get the feeling he has something he wants to discuss with you about desserts···.”
That afternoon.
James had tipped me off that Evan always stopped by the café on his way home for chamomile tea and dessert.
No reason to put it off, so after a short walk with Luca I “coincidentally” ran into him in front of the elevator.
Of course it felt anything but natural. Why was my pride even stinging over something this small?
“Ah, good afternoon.”
“Yes, hello.”
“···.”
What? Why isn’t he asking me for tea today?
But just as I started to feel awkward, Evan—apparently tired of constant rejection—seemed to have changed his approach.
“Actually, my wife is pregnant, and she really loves the desserts you make.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’ve been inviting me for tea all this time?”
Hmm. So a custom order, then?
I thought of the two-hundred-forty-dollar cake I’d made for Rose and Lily and started running mental numbers, but Evan seized the opening and kept talking.
“Well, not only for that reason.”
Then for what?
“First, why don’t you come up to my place? I have some excellent tea at home···.”
Months after that first invitation, I finally set foot in the uncomfortable neighbor’s apartment.
The man who had successfully sat me at his coffee table and poured fine tea into bone china looked thoroughly pleased with himself as he took a business card from his case and held it out.
“Evan Brown.”
“You’re an editor at a publishing house.”
“Yes. Still just an ordinary editor for now, but my dream is to become chief editor in the not-too-distant future.”
The familiar book-shaped logo drawn in silver lines on a gray-blue background caught my eye.
“Brown···. Did you found the company yourself? The name sounds familiar, though.”
“My grandfather founded it. Thirty-five years of tradition.”
“Ah···. I see. Sorry, I don’t read that many books. I didn’t recognize it.”
“Not at all. Most readers don’t pay much attention to the publisher. Especially these days when e-books are so common.”
“Right, then I···.”
I almost reached for one of my old company cards, then remembered the mobile business card Cassandra had made and sent me the moment she heard I’d quit.
I’d never shown it to anyone and wasn’t sure how it would land, but I casually held up my phone with the QR code displayed.
“Oh···.”
Evan scanned it with clear interest.
Whether he was as unused to this newfangled stuff as I was, or whether everyone he met still used paper cards, this seemed to be a first for him too.
“Our company tends to be rather conservative, so we’re hopelessly slow with things like this···. This is actually quite nice, Jun.”
“Yeah, well···.”
Truthfully I still preferred paper cards.
But at least I didn’t have to launch into a long explanation of what I was doing on YouTube, which was definitely a plus.
A channel racing past two hundred fifty thousand toward three hundred thousand wasn’t something I needed to feel embarrassed about showing people either.
“Hmm···.”
Evan combed through my channel thoroughly, scrolling and murmuring admiration.
That’s right—my channel does have a lot to look at.
“···Oh, wait, are you an artist?”
“No, nothing like that···. Just hobbies, this and that.”
“This pottery video—is that you? I’m no expert on ceramics, but this hardly looks like hobbyist level···.”
“Haha···.”
After browsing a little longer, Evan set the phone down and got to the point.
“I’ll be direct. Our publishing house is currently recruiting home bakers for a new recipe book.”
Ah, so that was it. I could already guess what he was about to say.
“I believe you would fit the theme of the recipe book we’re planning extremely well. I’d like you to come to our office, give a presentation, and discuss the direction going forward.”
“Ah, um···.”
“And—this is still a bit early—but if you sign with Brown House Publishing, we can put three thousand dollars in your account right away as an advance.”
Ooh. Three thousand dollars···?
In the past I would have snapped that offer up without a second thought.
But these days I was a man with a little more breathing room—someone who would feel a bit of wounded pride if he let that amount shake him.
“Mmm···.”
I rubbed my chin with a faintly troubled look.
“···And I could probably stretch it to five thousand on my own authority.”
Luca gave a tiny yawn.