Have you ever made someone worship you, adore you or believe you were the center of the universe? How did you do it, and why?

From Josephs' journal:

...when I think of her, it's the little things. I roll my eyes to type that, because it's so cliche, but it's true. Of course, I think about the day she was born, or the day she took her first steps... the typical parenting shit that gets written in baby books and framed; hung on a wall and gathering dust. But those times aren't nearly as important as the day that I picked her up from school early because we were slow at the diner and she and I went and got ice cream cones and sat at the park, feeding the ducks. I remember she looked up at me with such love and trust in her eyes. At that moment, I realized that I had to be a better man for her. That it didn't matter that I didn't want to be covered in grease at the end of the day or that I'd rather be writing than flipping burgers. Everything I did was for her. To keep her safe, to make her life easier. I knew that I'd throw myself in front of a bus just to see her look at me like that again.

I loved my wife, but I don't think I knew what love was until I met her. I was the center of that little girl's universe, and she had me wrapped around her finger. I'd give anything to have her back.

"Hey, Joey, we've got another request for the cream pie."

Joseph jerked his head up from the pile of bills he was pouring over to see an aproned woman leaning against the door jam. She was covered in flour from the waist up and the stains from the waist down turned his stomach. Each one represented at least two pies, and from the looks of it, Wendy'd been making them all day.

He sighed. "How many does that make?"

She shrugged. "I lost count around noon. 20, maybe? Not sure." She tilted her head back towards the counter and motioned with her thumb toward the guy standing next to the cash register, mindlessly flipping through The Gazette. "Looks like he's got crap taste in newspapers. Should I tell him to scram on those grounds alone?" He smirked at the woman and stood, pushing his chair back and stretching his arms wide over his head.

The man pushed the paper aside when he saw Joseph come out of the office. His face lit up, hopeful. "Do you have any more of the Chocolate Cream? My wife really loves it, and..." Joseph, wearing his "I'm about to deliver bad news" grimace, stopped him mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, but we're all out. They've been selling like hotcakes. Or hot pies, if you prefer." His grimace turned to a silly smirk, but was wiped away quickly when the man exhaled loudly. "Great. Just my luck. We've had a really bad Christmas this year. I lost my job and my daughter's had strep... I was just hoping. Y'know. She likes them so much and all..."

At the mention of the daughter, Joseph rolled his eyes. The guy had a scope for the diner-owner's weakness. There was no arguing with sick kids. Joseph took the man by the elbow towards the back of the shop and said quietly, "look. I don't do this often, and if you come in here next week saying your kids' on half a crutch or something, I'm not going to be inclined to believe you, understand?" The man nodded. "But I've got a daughter of my own, so I know how that goes. Wait here, I'll get one fixed up for you myself."

He headed towards the kitchen, wiping "Chocolate Cream Pie" off the sign as he passed. A couple who had just walked in the door stopped, mid bell-chime, and looked at him crestfallen. He shook his head and shrugged at them. They got that same downtrodden look on their face as the first man and he spoke up before they could tell a sob story that'd keep him in the kitchen for hours. "Sorry, busy time of the year and all. Gotta come early next time."

As he watched them leave, he couldn't help but smile despite himself. As much as he'd rather be at home, he couldn't help but be thankful of his customers. At least they kept the bills paid.

Word Count: 526