She turns suddenly, startled by the bell, because of the zone she enters when slicing fish every morning on that wooden block. It’s an art you know, a methodical way for her to use precision, and concentration, and at the same time…forget the world around her.
But that bell, reluctantly she grabs a towel and makes her way to the front of the shop trying to clean up enough to face whoever showed up on this rainy early morning on Pier 82.
Her mouth nearly dropped to the floor, upon seeing the person that made that bell ring.
Dear God, she thought…