Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows novel Chapter 16

He set down the breakfast haul on the table, a spread of bagels, croissants, coffee, and donuts.

“Have whatever you fancy,” he said, moving in closer to return the mop to its spot beside me. With a gentle nudge, he guided me into a chair at the dining table. From the spread, he picked out a small bag of colorful mini pastries that seemed a bit out of place. Casually, he remarked, “These won’t really fill you up, just a little treat. Kids seem to love them.”

Those little pastries, ten for a couple of bucks, were a classic parent trick to keep kids happy.

When I was a kid, I always wanted them, but my mom thought they weren't worth it. We'd pass by the bakery every day on our way to school and work, yet she never got them for me. By the time I could buy them myself, I felt like I'd outgrown them.

But now, that childhood craving was right in front of me. I picked up a pink one and took a bite. It was just as I’d imagined—soft and mildly sweet.

I looked up at him, my eyes crinkling into a smile. “Thanks.”

He paused for a moment and then gave a little smirk. I picked up the cutest purple pastry and offered it to him. “It’s delicious, you should try.”

He chuckled, “I’m not a kid.”

“Who says adults can’t enjoy colorful pastries?” I shot back. “I’m not a kid anymore either.”

He replied, “Wise beyond your years,” and then, to my surprise, took a playful bite right from my hand, swallowing it whole. It wasn't even enough to fill a tooth gap.

After breakfast, I found myself at a loose end. Jonah had changed his clothes and was already deep into his sketches in the studio.

“Why don’t you watch some TV?” he suggested, but I shook my head, not interested.

By the next day, I was perfectly content to sit next to him and tackle my homework.

Our routines—mine, Jonah’s mother’s, and Jonah’s—intertwined without really overlapping. I was an early bird, Aunt Marie was early to bed and late to rise, while Jonah was a night owl but still up early.

Jonah’s mother, who I called Aunt Marie now, struggled with serious insomnia, taking sleeping pills each night. She usually woke up around nine, went to the market for groceries, and cooked at home. In her downtime, she dived into books, from “One Hundred Years of Solitude” to “Les Misérables,” and occasionally indulged in spy thrillers, though she rotated through just a handful. Her empathy ran deep, often getting so absorbed she'd shed silent tears.

When she was too tired to read, she'd sit by the door, gazing at the old oak tree outside. By nine in the evening, she’d head back to her room to rest.

Jonah, a tattoo artist with a flexible schedule, had his studio set up on the right half of the first floor. He’d be up at six sharp, handling all the household chores before heading out for a workout. By seven-thirty, he'd be back with breakfast. His mornings were spent sketching or organizing his materials.