AN: Here you go the second part. C'mon, ya all. More Powerstones.
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Steam rose as the tub filled. Harley tossed in a splash of pink-swirled soap and the water frothed with bubbles. She set a bottle of bodywash on the counter, something neon-colored with "Sugar Rush" printed across the label in glittery letters.
"This stuff'll make ya smell like cotton candy married a fruit salad," Harley said proudly. "Premium stuff."
Maureen hesitated at the door, fingers clutching the hoodie sleeve. "I… I can do it myself."
"Relax, Bluebell, I ain't plannin' on scrubbin' ya like a car hood. Just settin' the scene." Harley winked, then turned her back to give the girl space. "Soak up, chill out. You deserve it. And don't ya dare argue. Or I'll toss ya in with your clothes on."
When Harley left, Maureen lowered herself into the hot water. The warmth crawled up her skin, melting the chill she usually carried like armor. She leaned back against the porcelain, closing her eyes as bubbles clung to her arms. The scent of the bodywash was absurdly sweet, but she used it anyway, rubbing the foam along her shoulders.
For the first time in years, she didn't smell like rust and dirt. She smelled… human.
[Bedroom]
When she finished, Harley was waiting with a pile of clothes. "Here ya go. Vintage Quinn collection. Don't worry, it's all washed. Probably. Maybe. Eh, mostly."
The stack included a red & blue hoodie that smelled faintly of detergent, black leggings, and a T-shirt with a cartoon bat on it. Maureen slipped into them, tugging the sleeves over her hands.
Harley tilted her head. "Perfect fit. Look at you. Like a sad blueberry turned into a cherry pie."
Maureen muttered, "Thanks."
Harley grinned. "Good enough for me. Now c'mon, breakfast before John eats all the wings."
[Kitchen Table]
The table was already set. A plate piled with stuffed garlic bread sat steaming beside a basket of chicken wings glistening with sauce. Scrambled eggs with a sprinkle of herbs. A pot of coffee steamed in the center, mugs lined up like soldiers.
John stood behind the counter, finishing a second pan of eggs.
"Sit," he said, not looking up.
Maureen sat in a chair. Harley plopped down beside her, pouring coffee into two mugs. One she pushed toward John, the other she claimed for herself.
Maureen reached for the garlic bread. Her fingers trembled, but she took a piece and bit in. Cheese stretched, gooey and hot. She closed her eyes, savoring it.
"Careful," John said. "Hot."
She nodded quickly, swallowing too fast.
Harley leaned on her elbow. "Told ya. Our boy here makes a breakfast that'll make ya forget your own name. Don't get used to it, though. Tomorrow you're on toast duty."
Maureen blinked. "Toast duty?"
"Everyone pitches in," John said simply, sitting down with his own plate.
Harley wagged a finger. "And don't let him trick ya with his scary voice. It's not slavery. It's tradition. Community. Like, family dinner but in the morning."
Maureen's hands froze around her plate. The word "family" stuck in her ears like a pin. She lowered her gaze, hiding her face in another bite of garlic bread.
John watched her quietly. Then, as if to ease the weight, he shifted the plate of chicken wings toward her. "Eat."
She took one. Slowly at first, then faster, until sauce smeared her fingers. Harley laughed, tossing her a napkin.
"Attagirl. Now you're a real Quinn diner."
Maureen wiped her hands, cheeks flushing faintly. "It's… really good."
John gave a single nod, which, from him, might as well have been applause.
...
[Behind J&H Pizza Place]
Later that morning, the rumble of a truck echoed down the alley, followed by a loud honk. Harley threw open the back door, waving as the driver hopped out.
"Supplies incoming!" she called. "And by supplies, I mean enough cheese to clog an artery just by lookin' at it."
The driver began unloading crates stacked with flour, veggies, boxes of mozzarella, and a couple of other items. John stepped out, sleeves rolled up, ready to haul.
"Harley, Maureen, lend me a hand."
"On it, boss man," Harley said, grabbing a crate of soda bottles and passing a smaller box to Maureen.
Maureen was clutching the cardboard against her chest. Her breath puffed white in the morning air, though the day wasn't cold.
"Careful, Bluebell," Harley said, bumping the box with her elbow. "Don't drop the sacred mozzarella."
Maureen almost smiled. "I won't."
They carried the crates inside. John stacked the heavier ones near the walk-in fridge. Maureen set hers down and stepped back.
John glanced at her. "You did fine."
The words were simple, flat, but Maureen felt heat crawl into her face. It had been a long time since anyone told her she did fine.
Harley slung an arm around her shoulders. "See? You're officially part of the team. Next step, pizza box origami. We'll make a professional outta ya yet."
Maureen ducked her head, hiding a faint smile.
...
[Noon]
The bell over the door jingled every few minutes as customers came and went. The lunch rush had begun to swell. John moved fast in the kitchen, stretching dough, sliding pies into the oven, turning out trays of garlic bread with practiced rhythm. The air was thick with the smell of baked cheese and roasted tomato.
Harley had taken off an hour earlier with two stacked delivery bags hooked over her shoulder, yelling something about tips and free entertainment if anyone stiffed her. That left Maureen at the counter. She stood a little stiff, pen in hand, scribbling down orders on a notepad.
The first few customers had stared too long. A woman whispered to her husband, her eyes darting to Maureen's pale blue skin as though it were a stain. Two boys laughed softly when she reached for their menus.
Maureen carried the slip of paper back to the kitchen, holding it tight. John glanced at her face, then the order, and without looking up from the cutting board said, "It's human nature. People stare at what they do not understand. They get curious when they see someone or something different. Harley used to get those stares back then. But with time, things changed. It'll change for you too. So, don't think too much." He slid a tray toward her. "Do your job. That is what matters."
She nodded slowly, throat tight, but when she walked back out, she kept her shoulders straighter. Carrying plates to a booth, she focused on balance, on setting them down without clatter. The customers mumbled their thanks without looking at her. That was fine. She's used to that.
By the time the clock above the counter hit two, she had found a rhythm. Take the orders, smile enough that it looked polite, bring the plates out. John stayed steady in the kitchen, and whenever she passed him a new slip, his words echoed back. 'It'll change for you too.'
[A few hours later]
The lunch crowd thinned. Harley was snoring upstairs after the rush hour.
Maureen wiped down tables after eating lunch. A couple of teenagers lingered in the corner booth, laughing over sodas. She caught one girl staring, but instead of shrinking, Maureen met her gaze until the girl looked away.
John came out from the kitchen carrying a tray of fresh wings for a late table. He set them down, spoke a short thanks to the customers, and stepped back toward the counter. His eyes flicked toward Maureen, a small nod acknowledging her effort. She almost smiled.
The quiet between orders felt comfortable. Maureen leaned on the counter, tapping her pencil against the notepad. She could almost imagine this was normal life. No alleys, no hunger. Just pizza, garlic bread, and the steady hum of the fan overhead.
[4 PM]
The place was empty for now...
The door swung open. The bell chimed.
A familiar figure walked in. Her clothes were casual enough for the city streets. A simple top, golden jacket, jeans and high-knee boots. She walked over to the window table and took a seat. Maureen took the menu and walked over to her.
John peeked out from the kitchen doorway. 'Diana! What the hell is she doing here? Did she track me here? Tsk.'
---[Don't forget those powerstones]---
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[Read 16 advance chapters]