The mechanical timer on the kitchen counter buzzed loudly, cutting through the tense silence in the small room.
I did not gasp, and I did not panic. I simply turned my back to the wall phone, walked over to the hot oven, and reached for a thick cloth mitt. I opened the oven door and pulled the heavy baking stone out of the heat. I set the hot loaf of bread onto the wooden cutting board, and the smell of baked yeast filled the air.
Mason stared at me for a few long seconds. He expected me to drop my coffee mug or shout in frustration because his stepmother just ruined our peaceful morning. He did not realize my years working in the diner taught me how to handle bad news without losing my focus.
"Did you hear what I just said, Freya?" Mason asked while he stepped away from the old landline phone. "Eliza filed a major civil lawsuit against the company, and the judge froze our financial assets."
