Her eyes were so easy to read that Raymond couldn’t help but smile.
Shaking his head, he briefly explained, “I work at a nonprofit organization.”
“Oh, I see,” Jolene nodded in understanding. “No wonder you’re organizing volunteers.”
She didn’t pry further—she was just curious how someone so young could afford a house in this area. But then again, it might have been their parents’ house.
She looked away, toward the stairs. “I’m going to bed now. You should get some rest too. Good night.”
“Good night,” Raymond nodded.
As she headed upstairs, Jolene suddenly remembered that a few days ago, she had misunderstood Raymond—assuming he was staying out late on purpose to avoid his brother. Turns out he was genuinely busy because of an emergency.
She reasoned that if he cared enough about Emma—a child completely unrelated to him—there was no way he’d be truly cold toward his own brother.
She fell asleep early, cuddling the soft and warm Emma, drifting off contentedly.
The next afternoon, as soon as Ben walked out of school, he eagerly grabbed Jolene’s hand, saying they needed to buy ingredients and go home to make pastries and lemonade.
Jolene didn’t want to crush his enthusiasm. In such a short time, with such a little kid making chocolate chip cookies himself, she wasn’t sure they’d make it in time to sell at the swim class.
Truth be told, Jolene knew how to bake cookies herself. But unless Ben asked for her help, she’d rather stand by and let the kid figure out for himself how hard it was to make money.
There was a grocery store right by the street. Jolene took the two kids in to buy flour, butter, sugar, cocoa powder, chocolate chips, and a few lemons. They actually had all these ingredients at home already, but since Raymond had given Ben the startup money, it was better to buy everything from the store so they could accurately calculate how much profit the $100 would generate.
Ben agreed with this approach too.
For a little kid, this wasn’t just about making money—it felt like something truly meaningful.
And not just Ben—even Emma looked a little envious.
Emma’s eyes were even easier to read. As she watched Ben keep tossing things into the shopping cart, her big blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and longing.
She bit her lower lip softly, glancing between the chocolate on the shelves, the busy Ben, and her mom. But unfortunately, she didn’t dare to say anything.
Jolene noticed, of course, and turned to Ben. “How about this—Emma helps you make them. Consider it her working for you.”
Ben had already noticed Emma’s little glances. He thought for a moment, then nodded. “But she’s so little. What if she wastes the flour?”
“Then I’ll pay you back with my salary,” Jolene said with a wave of her hand.
Ben finally agreed, and a look of joy spread across Emma’s face.
They didn’t waste any time and hurried home. They had less than two hours before they needed to take the cookies and lemonade to the swimming school.
As a professional chef, Giovanni found simple baking a breeze—but teaching kids this young to bake? The Italian man suddenly looked like his soul had left his body.
From day one, Jolene had noticed that Giovanni was also the type who was terrified of unruly kids. That was exactly why he’d been so friendly with her the first time they met—before Jolene arrived, Giovanni had been the one stuck watching the kids, and just a few hours of that had nearly driven him crazy.
Now, watching two five-year-olds fling flour everywhere, Giovanni couldn’t bear to look. He was tempted to just bake everything himself and let Ben sell it.
But his little employer wouldn’t have it—Ben insisted on making everything with his own hands, saying it was his own little business.
Jolene had to admit she respected that. The kid could be difficult to communicate with sometimes, but he had real character. At least he took responsibility for what he said he’d do.
Emma, on the other hand, was quieter and more careful in her movements—she wasted far less flour and shaped her cookies first. They weren’t quite what Giovanni had in mind, but at least they didn’t affect the taste.
Ben’s chocolate chip cookies, however, came out all sorts of odd shapes. They were still sellable, but whether anyone would actually pay for them was another question.
Next, the two kids made lemonade together—using the simplest recipe.
Jolene found some insulated bags, divided the cookies into several portions, and packed them in one bag. In another bag, she put a few ice packs and placed the lemonade inside.
Carrying two insulated bags, she had Ben write a sign himself—”Homemade Cookies & Lemonade”—and tape it onto the bags.
Everything was ready. Jolene slung the two square insulated bags over her arms and took the kids to the swimming school.
She placed the bags at her feet and sat on the bench with Emma to rest.
If anyone asked, she’d sell some on the spot. During the 15-minute break in the middle, Ben would come over and do the selling himself.
They’d already agreed on the prices: $1 for a cup of lemonade, and $2 for a pack of chocolate chip cookies. They’d settled on these prices after seeing that a 14-ounce (397g) box of cookies sold for $3 at the store. And since the lemonade was made with the simplest recipe, $1 felt just right.
If Ben didn’t ask Jolene to help him sell, she wouldn’t offer. She simply kept the bags at her feet—after all, any swimmer passing by could see the sign and the clearly marked prices.
Unfortunately, there was a vending machine right there, stocked with all kinds of sodas. A can of Coke was only 86 cents—less than a dollar. So a handmade lemonade for a dollar? No wonder no one was buying.
But when Ben’s break came and the kids were free to roam, he came running over excitedly and asked, “Did anyone ask about it?”
“Nope. Maybe the lemonade is too expensive? I saw the Coke in the vending machine is under a dollar,” Jolene said, pointing at the long line of elementary school kids waiting at the machine.
Ben frowned and looked at the queue. There wasn’t much he could do—Coke really was cheap. It sold for only 20 or 30 cents at the supermarket, and 86 cents at the vending machine. But if he priced his too low, he wouldn’t even break even. Lemons, ice, honey—all cost money. And Jolene had even said he needed to factor in his own labor costs.
Little Ben was already starting to calculate all the expenses in his head.
“How about you and Emma each take a cup of lemonade and ask the kids in line if they want to buy?” Jolene suggested.
Again—unless Ben asked, she wasn’t going to jump in and help.
Emma looked up, her eyes bright and clearly eager to try.
Jolene raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t expected her daughter to be so interested in business—it was different from the timid, cautious girl she’d imagined.
On second thought, Emma was overly well-behaved and hesitant to speak her mind, but she wasn’t actually timid by nature.
Then again, the original owner had never abused Emma—just neglected her. And that long-term neglect was exactly why Emma always watched others’ expressions and acted so carefully.
Now, hearing her mom suggest she sell things with Ben, Emma was visibly excited.
Ben, on the other hand, wasn’t scared at all. He never forgot his goal: make money, pay his brother back early, earn lots and lots, and surprise his brother.
So the two kids each took a cup of lemonade and walked straight toward the line of students.
The lemonade had been sitting next to the ice packs—the plastic bottles were cool to the touch. And the reason they dared to charge a dollar was simple: the bottles were large (bought from the store), and they’d filled them generously. They looked sweet, icy, refreshing, and plentiful.
The kids’ hands were too small to hold the bottles properly, so they had to cradle them with both arms as they slowly made their way to the queue.
Jolene watched with amusement. She didn’t have to lift a finger—it was like watching children play house, and it was pretty entertaining.
“Hi! This is homemade frozen lemonade. Only one dollar a cup. Are you thirsty? Would you like to buy one?” Ben walked up to a classmate. He was naturally bold and fearless, not shy like some kids.
Ben had been taking swim lessons here for a while, so the kids recognized him in his swim trunks. They glanced at the long vending machine line, then at the large bottle in Ben’s hands—condensation on the plastic showing it was nice and cold.
The kid’s mom had given him exactly one dollar. He thought for a second, then shoved the coin into Ben’s palm. “Sure, I’ll try it. Looks really cold.”
Ben handed the bottle over with both hands, looked at the dollar in his palm, turned back to Emma, and flashed a grin full of baby teeth.
Emma was just as excited. She bared her teeth, took a breath, turned to another classmate, and repeated the same line Ben had used.
Kids love to imitate each other.
The nearby classmate had seen the first kid buy some, and watched him sipping the lemonade through a straw. He nodded and dropped four quarters into Emma’s hand. “Looks good.”
Emma was over the moon. She turned to look at her mom, their eyes met, and mother and daughter beamed at each other.
Jolene gave both kids a big thumbs-up.
Ben then grabbed Emma and ran back to grab a few packs of cookies. But after a moment, he realized this was too slow—the lemonade was too heavy for them to carry the whole bag. He turned to Jolene. “Maybe you could carry the bag for me? I’ll pay you for your labor.”
Jolene gladly stood up. “Sure thing.”
So Jolene carried both bags behind the two kids, acting as a mobile shelf, while the kids did the selling up front.
The lemonade sold like crazy. Not just elementary schoolers—even parents waiting to pick up their kids came over to buy a cup.
Kids making lemonade and selling it near schools was a common sight in the U.S., something many parents encouraged. So when people saw this, some parents would come over specifically to buy—partly to support the little entrepreneurs.
Before long, the lemonade was completely sold out. Ben happily stuffed a handful of cash into Jolene’s hand. “You keep track for me! I’m going back to class!”
Jolene: “You got it!”
She cheerfully started counting the change—and was surprised to find that even those ugly-looking chocolate chip cookies had actually sold. Those kids must have been really hungry…
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