"Ciara, when you're done, lock up!" Angelica called out, tossing the keys across the bar.
I huffed, catching them mid-air, and stared at them in my palm. The weight felt heavier than it should, like the finality of my last shift.
"It's my last day here anyway," I muttered under my breath, not expecting her to hear me.
"I can hear you, baby girl," Angelica replied, a smirk tugging at her lips as she slipped on her sleek trench coat. She crossed the polished marble floor to where I stood and enveloped me in a long hug. The familiar scent of her perfume—a blend of vanilla and cedarwood—wrapped around me.
"Give Avery a kiss for me, alright? And be good to yourself. You've got a big opportunity ahead. Don't let the past hold you back," she said, her voice softer now.
"I'm fine," I whispered, barely audible, but Angelica just smiled knowingly. She pressed a kiss to my forehead and stepped back, her heels clicking lightly against the floor.
"I'm going to miss you," she called out before heading to the door.
I offered a small smile as I set my folded apron on the counter. My eyes swept over the empty restaurant, the soft glow from the chandeliers casting golden patterns on the polished floors. For the past year, this upscale seafood and Cajun spot had been my second home. It wasn't just a job—it was how I provided for my one-year-old daughter, Avery, and myself.
The kitchen was immaculate, as it always was at the end of the night. The countertops gleamed under the overhead lights, and the faint scent of lemon cleaner lingered in the air. I'd scrubbed every surface twice, not out of duty but out of habit.
I sighed and leaned against the counter, glancing at the clock. 12:50 a.m. I had to be up early for my flight, but here I was, still closing up. Tomorrow marked the start of a new chapter: costume designer for WWE. The idea thrilled me. All those talented superstars and divas—I already had a flood of ideas for their outfits.
I grabbed my bag from the back locker room and was about to head out when the chime of the front door startled me. Two men strolled in, their confident footsteps echoing in the quiet.
"Excuse me," said the taller one, his hair a blend of blonde and brown that caught the light. "Can we place a to-go order?"
I blinked at them, brushing a stray curl from my face. Without my glasses, the dim lighting made it hard to fully make out their faces, but they were clearly out of place—dressed too casually for a restaurant like this at this hour.
"Sorry, but the kitchen closed an hour ago," I replied, slipping on my coat.
The other man sucked his teeth, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. "Come on, it's late, and we're starving. We just finished a show and haven't eaten all day."
"I've already cleaned up," I said, gesturing toward the spotless counters. "I'm not about to start all over again. There's a diner down the street that's open 24 hours."
The taller man glanced at his friend, who gave a slight shrug. They both looked at me, clearly unimpressed, before turning to leave.
"Thanks for nothing," one of them muttered under his breath as they walked out.
I rolled my eyes, locking the door behind them. The winter air nipped at my cheeks as I stepped outside. The wind tugged at my coat, and I huddled against the cold, making my way to the bus stop.
Half an hour later, I finally reached my apartment. The heat inside was a welcome relief. Mrs. Robinson, my neighbor, greeted me with Avery in her arms.
"She's been an angel, but she's been waiting for you," Mrs. Robinson said with a smile as I scooped my daughter up.
I kissed Avery's forehead, inhaling her baby-soft scent. "Thank you so much. I'll see you later this week."
Once inside, I set Avery down, changed her into her footie pajamas, and got to work packing our final things. We had a flight to catch in just a few hours. As I dressed and prepared, memories of high school flickered in my mind—my past, my mistakes, and the people I'd lost. Avery's father, a Samoan wrestler, was a complicated part of that past, but I pushed the thoughts away.
A honk outside broke my reverie. The taxi had arrived.
The airport was buzzing even at this hour, and as I approached the gate, I saw them: the WWE roster. The superstars and divas were scattered in small groups, chatting and laughing. My stomach flipped nervously as I adjusted Avery's car seat.
Stephanie McMahon approached with a warm smile. "Nice to see you again, Ms. Owens. Welcome to the team."
"Thank you," I replied, shaking her hand.
As we chatted, I noticed someone from earlier. The tall, blonde-haired man from the restaurant stood a few feet away, talking to another wrestler.
"You're here," he said with a teasing grin as he noticed me.
I raised an eyebrow. "And you are...?"
"Seth Rollins," he replied, clearly amused. "You're the one who turned us away earlier."
"Guilty," I replied, shrugging.
"You owe me fries," he said with a wink before walking off.
Before I could respond, another wrestler with a Samoan tattoo approached. Roman Reigns. He gave me a warm smile, his piercing eyes glinting with curiosity as he glanced at Avery.
"She's adorable," he said.
"Thank you," I replied, a small smile creeping across my face as Avery reached for his beard.
"She's part Samoan?" he asked, catching me off guard.
I hesitated, then nodded. "Her father was Samoan."
Roman studied me for a moment before smiling. "We make good babies," he said lightly, but there was something deeper in his tone.
As we boarded the plane, I couldn't help but feel the shift in my life—this was only the beginning.
