"Dylan, stop it!" Emmy called out as a spoonful of cereal flew past her and landed on the floor.
The little boy just giggled, milk all over his chin.
Emmy sighed, looking at the wrist watch on her hand. 8:30 AM.
"Oh no… I'm going to be late."
She grabbed her handbag and looked at her mom in the kitchen.
"Mom, please watch Dylan—I need to go now!"
Helena peeked from the stove. "Go. I've got him. Good luck, Emmy."
"Thanks," she said, rushing out the door with a slice of bread in one hand and her heart racing.
The city was already busy. Emmy had to run to catch the small bus going toward downtown. She entered as there was no longer sitting space, she stood between people, holding onto the rail with one hand while fixing her hair with the other. She kept repeating in her head:
Be calm. Be confident. Just get the job.
The boutique was beautiful. Glass windows, shining floors, and mannequins wearing stylish clothes. Emmy straightened her back and walked in.
The manager, a sharp-looking woman, nails painted red and a well made and neat ponytail, smiled politely.
"Hello, I'm Karen," she said, "You're... Emilia?"
"Emmy. Yes. It's nice meeting you."
They sat down. Karen opened her file and glanced at her résumé. Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
"You were an Assistant Manger in the Design department before?"
"Yes. I worked with L&B Clothiers in Los Angeles."
Karen looked up. "This role is more... basic. Just folding clothes, helping customers, cleaning. You're really experienced."
"I don't mind. I just need something steady."
Karen gave a small smile. "That's what worries us. Honestly, I think you'll get bored here. We want someone who'll stay for a while."
Emmy's voice dropped. "I will stay. I promise."
Karen closed the folder gently. "I'm sorry, Emmy. You're a great candidate but this just isn't the right fit."
Meanwhile, Franklin was on his own mission.
He had skipped the meeting again.
While Margaret and the hotel staff searched for him, Franklin was already sneaking out the back of the Grand Silvershore Hotel, wearing a hoodie, dark glasses, and carrying nothing but his wallet, his keys and phone.
He got into his shiny silver Mercedes and pulled out of the hotel garage quietly.
His phone buzzed.
Margaret (9:27 AM): Your father knows. Do not leave. Do NOT leave the hotel.
He smirked. Too late.
Franklin stepped on the gas and drove toward the coast. The sun was out. The music was loud. For a few minutes, he felt free.
Back at the gas station, freedom hit a wall.
"Sorry, sir," the cashier said, holding his card. "It's not working."
Franklin frowned and checked his phone.
Margaret (2:42 PM): Your cards have been blocked. Your father said this is your lesson.
He checked his wallet, no cash, frustrated, got back into the car, and started driving again but the fuel light kept blinking red.
Empty.
He pulled up into a quiet road not too far from the gas station and parked, slamming the door behind him.
"Perfect. Just perfect."
At the same time, Emmy was walking slowly along that same road. Her interview had ended in disappointment, and she didn't want to go home yet. She sat on the bench of the bus stop near the gas station. The breeze felt nice, but her chest was heavy. She was tired. Sad. A little lost.
Then she heard a car door slam nearby.
She turned and saw a dark haired guy, handsome, tall wearing a hoodie and pacing beside a silver Mercedes.
He looked annoyed. Maybe even helpless.
She tried to ignore but found herself walking up to him
"Bad day?"
Franklin turned, surprised.
"You could say that."
She gave a small, tired smile. "Same here."
He looked at her. Really looked. She wasn't wearing fancy clothes. She didn't have makeup on. But something about her felt... real.
"you look like you are about to faint?" he said.
She shook her head. "No. Just needed a place to breathe."
"Did it help?"
She looked out at the sea, then back at him.
"No. Not really."
They both laughed a little. Quiet and soft.
Two strangers.
One broken-down car.
One failed interview.
And a strange moment that neither of them expected.