Sweet On You - By Kate Perry Page 0,2
in his sweatshirt, he picked up the small store of food he'd harvested from the garbage and walked away, furtively looking around like he was worried about being caught.
The food she understood—he was obviously hungry—but the stuffed animal perplexed her. She guessed he was twelve or thirteen. He was in that gangly, awkward phase that happened right before adolescence. The last thing a boy going through puberty would want was a pink teddy bear.
So she did the obvious: she followed him.
She took care not to alert him that she was on his tail. She bet he'd lose her in the blink of an eye.
Clinging to shadows, she followed him all the way to a dilapidated building South of Market.
It was condemned, based on the heavy chains and padlock on the front doors. Just in case there was doubt, there were signs posted all over in addition to the yellow Do Not Enter tape.
She studied the building. It looked like an old motel, boarded up and forbidding, with broken windows, graffiti, and padlocks on the doors. The only spot of lightness was the east side, which was covered in Dali-esque murals spanning from the ground all the way to the roof. Close to the sidewalk, there was a For Sale sign, as if someone would willingly buy this dump.
What was the boy doing here? She watched him carefully wiggle his way into the building through a jagged window.
Curious, worried, she followed him in. Fortunately, she wasn't that much bigger than he was, otherwise she'd have had trouble getting in.
She didn't have to go far to find him. She followed the sound of young voices. She peeked around the corner just in time to see him hand the pink bear to a little girl who had cowlicky hair just like his.
The girl gasped, her eyes widening when she saw the toy. She took it carefully. "For me?"
"Duh." Grinning, the boy ruffled her hair.
She grasped it, staring at it incredulously. Then she grabbed the boy in a huge hug. "Thanks, Jimmy."
He patted her back awkwardly.
A woman called out from somewhere down the hall. "Jimmy, are you back? Did you find food?"
"Yeah, mom," he yelled, taking the girl, who was obviously his sister, with him as he hurried down the hall.
Daniela stood there and watched them disappear, the echo of their voices fading. She looked around at the building. Trash littered the hall, and the smell of urine assaulted her with every inhale. She flipped a light switch on the wall next to her but nothing happened.
They lived here?
She felt guilt over being so unhappy when she had so much. She had a large house in Laurel Heights, a four-story monstrosity that Tony had arranged for her to rent, as well as her flat in New York and pied à terre in Paris. She'd never known hunger, much less been without her own bed to sleep in. They were so different than the pampered kids she was hired to bake cakes for.
She wondered if either the boy or girl had ever had a birthday cake.
Her heart broke, remembering the way Nonna used to sit her on the counter in the kitchen as she baked cannoli or made pasta. Daniela had learned about life and love sitting on that counter. Without that, she had no idea where she'd be right now.
That boy had to scrounge for food to take home to his sister. Her brother would have done that for her. He used to protect her from bullies who teased her about her big, alien eyes, help her when she didn't understand math, and threaten to beat up any guy who broke her heart.
Once upon a time.
She walked down the hall. If someone bought the building, that poor family would be out on the streets, most likely.
Turning the corner, she wondered where she was. This wasn't the way she'd entered. Disoriented, she looked around, trying to figure out where she'd come from. Shrugging, she pushed open the swinging door in front of her to see if there was an exit.
No exit—just an industrial-grade kitchen.
Of course, it was completely trashed. Careful not to brush up against the appliances, all caked in grime, she made a pass through, looking at the space with a professional's eye.
To make it functional, it'd have to be gutted and power-hosed. But the walk-ins were of good quality, and the range just needed to be cleaned. The space was open and would accommodate a large crew serving many people.
With one last slow