The new owner

Sophie looked at herself in the mirror. She had not changed a lot since she left her aunt and uncle about six years ago.

Her hair had grown, though; it was at her waistline now. And her hips and legs had become more accentuated and rounder.

It certainly attracted many men to her, this figure and face that she had. But they were quick to leave once they learned of her disability. Rhys was the only man who had stayed with her long enough, and sometimes she wondered why.

She definitely was not paying him a lot. It was average, to say the least, but he always insisted on staying.

She gazed once again at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. Her aunt had always liked to remind her of how much she resembled her mother but would never allow her to see a photo of the woman.

She picked up her notebook from the dresser before her and leafed through it. In its pages, she picked a photo and held it up to her face.

She had stolen the photo from her aunt’s room one fateful night when her aunt and uncle had been away. She could not clearly remember what she had been looking for in her aunt’s room, but she had found the photo and knew instinctively that the woman in the photo was her mother.

A half of the photo had been torn away, but Sophie did not care for that part. Her small finger had slid on the surface of the photo, and she imagined touching her mother’s face as she touched the photo.

Now, as she looked at the woman who stared at her from the mirror and the woman in the photo, she could barely tell them apart. It was as though the woman in the mirror and the woman in the photo were one and the same.

Her aunt had been both right and wrong. Yes, she did greatly resemble her mother in physical appearance, but one thing was different. Where she had fiery red hair, the woman in the photo had pale blonde hair.

Sophie arrived at the shop later than usual. A large tote bag hung limply from her shoulder. The door to her office opened, and Rhys rushed out.

“Sophie.” He greeted. “Pleasant morning.”

Sophie nodded her head.

He took the bag from her shoulder and led her back into the office. Sophie rounded her small desk and took her seat, noting the two mugs that lay on her desk.

Rhys gently laid her bag on the table. “You might be wondering what I'm doing here.”

She nodded towards the cups.

“You know the new owner? Well, he’s here. He wanted to see you, though, but you kept him waiting for quite a while. Did you check your phone? I left quite a lot of voicemails and texts.”

“Did he say why he wanted to see me?” Sophie signed.

Rhys took his head. “No. Not really.” He picked up the mugs, then disappeared into a room. Sophie heard the rush of running water, then he reappeared.

“He kind of only took a look around your office and then stated that he was leaving and would return later. He’s quite the guy, you know. Rusty beards, long bangs, extremely masculine, with the chest and all.” He touched his chest. “Weird macho, dude. I wonder what he thinks he’s doing by buying out these places like this.

Sophie dug through her bag as Rhys spoke. She came out with her notebook, a notepad, and a pen.

“Well, if he returns again, we’ll see him. Till then, let’s just focus on work.” She wrote. “We have orders.”

Rhys nodded and returned to his spot, leaving Sophie with her thoughts.

As much as Rhys felt he knew Sophie, there were things he still could not say about her. Over time, he had come to believe that he could understand her even without her speech, which he did to some extent, but there was a whole lot of her that he did not know.

Most days, such as this day, She was as mysterious to him as the first day he met her. Yesterday, she was broken as her eyes skimmed through the letters, but today, she could not care less.

Her eyes showed nothing to the contrary, and it usually left him uncertain about how to approach her.

Still, he manned his post as a guard dog would. If anything was constant, it was his trust and deep respect for Sophie. Although he did not know her past, she never spoke of it or allowed him a glimpse in her eyes, but he could guess that it had been a rough one.

He pulled the apron he had been wearing and hung it over the wall, then slipped out of the shop and into the pawn shop.

“What’s up, Neal?” Rhys greeted as soon as the bell announced his entrance.

Neal, the shop owner, stood behind the long desk, working tediously on the instrument in his hand.

“Sup, Rhys.” The man answered without looking up. “What brings you here? How’s the... Baker, what’s her name again?”

“Sophie.”

“Yeah, Sophie. How’s she? Still baking?”

“Of course.” Rhys answered, glancing around.

An assortment of jewelry vied for attention in cases that covered almost all the walls of the large shop. In the middle of the room, display glasses—almost as large as the ones used for display at the bakery—housed the most expensive collections of jewelry Rhys had ever had the privilege of seeing.

And lastly, there was the collection, which glowed triumphantly upon Neal’s desk. The room was dimly lit—perfect lighting for each of the jewelleries to glow.