Moana Waialiki's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The morning after she'd frightened her coworker, Moana came to the shop early. She had a plan to fix the mood. Foofoo trotted at her heel. She would fill the place with kids and turn the shop back into what she wanted it to be: a gathering place. She had heard three orphaned children needed a home. Adopting them felt like the perfect move. A loving home for them, extra hands for her, and young faces to draw families in. Win-win, she told herself. By noon she had the papers signed. Three kids stood in her shop. A shy girl with an auburn ponytail hung near the door, watching everything. That was Gracie. Beside her, a small girl in a floral skirt licked a soft-serve cone and studied the room with calm brown eyes. That was Lucy. And in the middle stood a boy in a maroon suit, arms crossed, frowning at the ice cream case. That was Dennis. "This is your home now," Moana said. "And you can help me here." "Help," Dennis repeated. "You mean free labor. I know what a business is." He looked at the cookie dough tub. "That flavor won't sell. Too plain." Moana felt the old heat rise, the same heat from yesterday. She swallowed it. "Then tell me what sells," she said. She meant it as a test. She wanted their ideas. Dennis smirked and started rearranging her display, moving tubs by color, ignoring her system. Gracie flinched at his loud voice and backed against the wall. Foofoo pressed close to the shaking girl, and Gracie's hand found his fur. Lucy watched all of it, quiet. Then Lucy set her cone down. "Okay," she said. "You two are gonna break something." She pointed at Dennis. "He needs a job that's just his, or he'll fight everyone for control. 🍓" She pointed at Gracie. "She needs a corner, not a crowd." She looked at Moana. "And you can't run all three of us and a shop by yourself. You already look tired. 📋" Moana stared. The newborn had read the room faster than she had. She had adopted three kids expecting helpers. Instead she'd inherited three separate storms, and only one of them wanted to be calm. "You're right," Moana said slowly. "I moved too fast." She knelt to Gracie's level. "Chalkboard signs. That's your job. Quiet work, your own table." Gracie nodded, small and relieved. Moana turned to Dennis. "You. You think the menu's plain. Fine. You design one flavor. If it sells, it's yours." Dennis's frown twitched. He said nothing, which for him was almost yes. Moana stood. The shop was hers again, barely. But now she ran three children with clashing needs, a staff that feared her, and a menu one seven-year-old had just been handed. Winning over the island's elders felt further away than yesterday. She had wanted more hands. She'd gotten more mouths.