1
Rachel
“Okay, be honest—too slutty?”
I nearly choke on my own spit as Jae slides back the dressing room curtain. Her sleek emerald gown has double thigh slits that reach to her hips, showcasing her toned legs. It wouldn’t be so startling if the dress didn’t also have a deep enough vee at the bodice to make wearing a bra impossible, too.
“You know other people can hear you, right?” I ask, glancing around. The boutique isn’t crowded, but there are a few women browsing the racks within earshot. “And see you.”
She sticks her head out beyond the privacy curtain. “Should I ask them, too?”
“No, Jesus.” I wrestle her back into the fitting room and follow her, closing the curtain behind us. “If you move the wrong way, everyone will see your…” I motion to her crotch area.
She looks down and moves a leg forward, the fabric shifting to reveal more than she bargained for. “Oh, you’re right. That’s a shame.”
She turns toward the mirror, striking an elegant pose, and somehow manages to look gorgeous in this awful fluorescent lighting, her pin-straight black hair shiny and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.
“I’m surprised they have this here,” she says, fluffing the skirt of the dress out around her. “I thought small towns were supposed to be wholesome.”
I roll my eyes, not caring if she sees me in the mirror. “You’ve been watching too many Hallmark movies.” Aurora isn’t that small, even if she claims her ridiculously-sized high school had the same number of students as our total population… Okay, maybe it is kind of small. “Why’d you even pick this to try on?”
She shrugs, still studying her reflection. “It didn’t seem so bad on the hanger. Plus, it’s on clearance.”
“Probably because no one will buy it,” I mutter.
“It’s an anniversary dinner,” she continues, as if I said nothing. “I’ll be seated ninety percent of the time, so who’s even going to see the slits?”
“They’ll see your cleavage.”
She waves a hand, dismissing my comment. “I’m an A-cup. There’s barely anything to see.”
I sigh. When Jae gets an idea in her head, it’s usually an exercise in futility trying to talk her out of it. “You do you.”
I exit the fitting room, and when she opens the curtain again, this time she’s in a more fine dining-appropriate dress, in navy satin. She looks phenomenal, as usual. I don’t know why she even asked me to go shopping with her. My opinion is always that everything looks good.
“Why don’t you try something on, too?” she asks, holding out a sparkly minidress to me. “We could go out to a bar. I’ll be your wingwoman and find you a good guy.”
I check the tag, not that I would ever wear something so flashy. That sneak. It’s my size.
“We’re here to get a dress for your anniversary dinner with Josh. You know, your husband you’ve been happily married to for a year? Remember him? Not to find dresses for clubbing—or whatever it is you want me to do.”
She huffs in exasperation. “You need to get out of the house. You’re becoming a hermit.”
I turn my back to her, crossing my arms over my chest. “I get out of the house plenty. See, I’m out right now.”
“Because I dragged you here. And the only other place you go is work. Work doesn’t count as getting out of the house.”
I chew my bottom lip. Damn it. She’s got me there.
Her hand rests gently on my shoulder. “Even if you see Kyle—”
“I’m not talking about him.”
One of the women across the boutique looks over at me, probably because of my harsh tone. Crap. I think that was my middle school music teacher.
I turn back around, squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t care if I run into Kyle,” I mumble, keeping my voice low. “Or… whatever her name is.”
Jae doesn’t call me on my fib. I know exactly what her name is. Autumn. A stupid season and a stupid name.
“Rachel…”
I can’t stand the pity in her voice, so I redirect the conversation. “Besides, you know I don’t go to bars or clubs or whatever. Twenty-seven is too old to be doing that, anyway.”
She gasps theatrically. “We are in the prime of our lives. And normal people go do those things. Not everyone is a workaholic obsessed with bakeries.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I bite back my reply. I’m not obsessed with my family’s bakery. But if I don’t make sure everything gets done, who else is going to? My sisters? Mom and Dad left me in charge of the business while they take their world cruise, and for good reason. The place would burn down without me there to run it.
And once was bad enough.
My phone rings and I fish it out of my purse, sighing when I see it’s Sydney. Speak of the devil.
“Hey, what are you up to?” she asks when I answer.
“I’m at the boutique with Jae.”
“Okay, cool.” I swear there’s relief in my sister’s voice. My suspicion alarm internally blares.
“Why do you want to know?”
“No reason,” she says, way too quickly to be believable. “Can’t a girl call her sister?”
We spend the large majority of our time together at the bakery. She’s probably sick of me.
“Aren’t you working?” I ask, looking at my watch. Not that I need to check it. I know exactly when the bakery’s hours are.
“Yes, of course. Oh, a customer came in. Have to go.”
The line goes dead and I hold my cell away from my ear, staring at it uneasily. She should be prepping stuff for tomorrow in the back, not up front with customers. Where’s Hailey?
“I’d ask who that was,” Jae says, “but fifty bucks says it was either Sydney or Hailey.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, my mind turning over the possibilities. “I need to stop by the bakery.”
“Wait, seriously? It’s your one day off. You can’t go a day without working?”
It’s not that I want to. It’s… I don’t know. “I have a bad feeling,” I tell her. Sydney never calls to chat. If anything, she would text, not call.
“Obsessed,” she remarks as I put my phone away. “At least tell me which dress to get.”
“You know you look amazing in all of them. But the one you’re wearing is especially great. Josh will love it.”
She turns back toward the mirror, sliding her palms over the silk. “I do look good, don’t I? Okay, you convinced me.” Her gaze meets mine in the mirror. “I’ll come to the bakery after I buy this. Don’t think you’re weaseling your way out of hanging out with me.”
I can’t help the grin that touches my lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it. See you soon.”
As much as she drives me crazy, I’m glad she moved here to Aurora from Philadelphia with her husband earlier this year. They’re wanting to start a family soon, and liked the idea of settling in a smaller town to raise kids, rather than the hustle and bustle of our college city.
I get in my car and take a moment to center myself, half-wondering if I’m taking Sydney’s weird call too seriously. It can’t hurt to check it out, at least.
It only takes five minutes to drive to Aurora Bakery, and as I find an open spot on the street to park, I wipe my palms on my jeans, a sense of foreboding filling me. Nothing appears amiss, but I can’t shake this feeling.
My first clue that something’s wrong is when I tug on the front door and nearly pull my shoulder out of my socket, finding it locked. Focusing on the door, I register that the open sign is turned to closed. Why the hell is the bakery closed in the middle of the day?
I pull out my keys and unlock it, discovering it deserted inside. Did Sydney and Hailey decide to play hooky for the day or something? No, there are voices coming from the back.
I round the counter and cautiously push open the double doors to the back work area, pulling up short at the sight of a man wedged halfway behind one of the industrial ovens, his back to me. I can’t tell who it is, only that he has dark hair and broad shoulders, with the kind of back that tapers down to a V. As he shifts, a tattoo peeks out from one of his shirt sleeves, intricately wrapped around a thick bicep. Wait, isn’t that…
“Doesn’t look like anything wrong with the power supply,” he says, voice muffled. “No charred wires or burned fuses, at least. Did the breakers trip or was there a surge—”
He stops in mid-sentence as he comes out from behind the oven and turns, making eye contact with me. His mouth shuts, nostrils flaring.
It’s Nick Henderson. Why is Nick of all people in my bakery?
“What’s going on?” I ask through dry lips. I lick them, unconsciously, and his gaze drops to my mouth.
“Rachel!” Hailey exclaims, and it’s only then that my gaze breaks from Nick and my brain processes the rest of the scene.
There’s a fine layer of white powder over the oven and floor. Is it flour? No, it’s not the right consistency. Also on the floor is an overturned tray of cupcakes, pink frosting smeared on the tile.
My gaze travels up, eyes widening at the soot on the ceiling. Soot?
I inhale, a sharp, acrid odor in the air. What the hell happened here? Was there… No, they didn’t seriously set fire to the place, did they?
“I thought you were shopping,” Sydney says, glancing around shiftily. Beside her, Hailey looks guilty as hell.
“You were acting suspicious on the phone,” I choke out, whatever’s in the air getting in my lungs. I cough into my elbow. “Was there a…” I trail off, unable to say the word.
Especially with Nick here.
“It was small,” Sydney rushes to explain, only half-answering my question. “So small you don’t even need to worry about it. Go enjoy your day off.”
I stare at her incredulously. Not worry about it?
“It wasn’t their fault,” Nick says quietly. “My guess is something with the oven malfunctioned. I could inspect it for you.”
I focus on his Aurora Fire Department shirt rather than look at his face again. “I… No, that’s okay.” I don’t want him here longer than necessary. “You were the one who put out the…” I still can’t say the word out loud.
He nods, sticking his hands in his pockets.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words getting stuck in my throat.
“Of course.”
My eyes squeeze shut at the sincerity in his voice. I must be hearing that wrong. He only did this because he had to as a firefighter.
“Holy shit. What happened here?”
I spin around, my heart leaping with gratitude for Jae as she gazes wide-eyed around the kitchen. I must not have locked the front door after coming in.
Leaving Sydney and Hailey to answer Jae’s questions, I push through the doors to the customer side of the bakery, taking in a lungful of air not tainted with extinguisher residue. I move to the front door, but don’t lock it quite yet, gripping the push bar.
Mom and Dad have only been gone one month out of their six-month world cruise and we’ve already set fire to the place? What else will we do by the time they get back? Flood it? Completely blow it up?
The doors to the back open, and I turn, expecting it to be Sydney, making another declaration of innocence, but it’s Nick. The room instantly seems smaller.
He stops with a fair amount of distance between us, but it’s still too close. My skin itches from the inside.
“I’ll need to make a report,” he says, and I nod. That makes sense. I should contact our insurance agent to see if we need to file a claim, too.
Shit. Will our premiums increase because of this?
“Do you want help cleaning up?”
I blink, taken aback. “Aren’t you on the clock?”
“I could come back after my shift ends.”
“Why?”
The question slips out unbidden. Why would he want to hang around here? This place has to hold painful memories for him.
Does he… Could he still feel guilty about what happened? Is this penance?
One of his arms comes up to rub at the back of his neck, his bicep tattoo on display again. It’s a Celtic band design, dark against his tanned skin. I shiver thinking how much it must have hurt to get that on the sensitive underside of his arm.
“Never mind.” There’s something almost like disappointment in his voice. “Have a good rest of your day.”
I move aside and he leaves, walking down the street toward the fire station a couple of blocks away. It’s not until he’s out of sight that a thought occurs to me. Shouldn’t he have come in the fire truck? And dressed in full gear? And shouldn’t there be other firefighters here? Sure, Aurora’s department is small, but I’d assume… Actually, I don’t know much about the fire department.
I lock the door and put Nick out of my mind. I have more pressing matters.
The conversation goes silent when I return to the kitchen, and just as I’m about to ask Sydney and Hailey exactly what happened, Jae asks, “Who was the firefighter? I haven’t seen him around before.”
She’s looking at me, but I turn my gaze toward the fallen cupcakes. I hope the frosting doesn’t stain the tile grout.
“That’s Nick,” Hailey says cautiously when I don’t answer.
“He couldn’t take his eyes off you, Rachel,” Jae says, and I nearly snort. She was in the room with him for about three seconds.
“I’ve been telling her she needs to get back out there after all the shit Kyle pulled,” she says to my sisters. “How do we feel about Nick? Good guy? Bad guy?”
Sydney and Hailey exchange an uneasy look, then direct their attention to me, waiting for my cue.
“What am I missing?” Jae asks, picking up on the tension.
“Nothing,” I answer, but even I know I said it too quickly to be believable.
“Do you have history? You know I love hot goss.”
“There’s no history and let’s drop it.” She opens her mouth to retort, but I steer her out of the kitchen and back up front. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I need to clean this up.”
“I can help—”
“No, you go home and enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’ll catch up with you later.”
I unlock the front door and practically push her out.
“Rachel—”
“The bakery is my problem to deal with. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
Her lips twist but she nods, probably recognizing how stubborn I’m being.
I lock up behind her and return to the kitchen, glad to see Hailey already using the wet/dry vacuum on the powdery mess and Sydney picking up the cupcakes. Rolling my shoulders, I attempt to release some of the growing tension. This entire place needs to be scrubbed top to bottom. We’ll need to toss any exposed food or ingredients in case they’ve been compromised. Depending on how much it is, I may need to put in an extra supply order this month.
There goes my day off.
I wet a clean rag and join Sydney, wiping up the globs of frosting on the floor.
“Tell me what happened,” I say once the vacuum turns off, doing my best to keep any anger or judgment out of my tone.
It takes Sydney so long to answer, I almost repeat myself before she asks in a small voice, “Are you mad?”
It’s so unlike her to care about my opinion, I nearly laugh until I catch myself. Sydney is bold and brash and doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of her.
But fires don’t inspire normal reactions in the Blackwell family.
“No,” I tell her, finding it’s true when I say it aloud. “I’m glad you and Hailey are safe.”
Sydney sniffs, her gaze on the floor, and I’m about to tell her we can talk about it later when she nods and meets my gaze, expression clear now. Maybe I only imagined how vulnerable she seemed for a moment there.
“I was frosting the cupcakes for Mrs. Griffin’s baby shower and had the cake in the oven for Mr. DeCosta’s retirement party. It’d only been in there maybe ten minutes before I smelled something burning. I looked up and…” She falters, swallowing hard. “There were flames in the oven.”
I lay a hand on her shoulder, knowing exactly what she’s remembering. The smoke rising from the bakery below into our apartment upstairs. Grabbing everything we could in a blind panic to take with us. Standing outside in the street, watching the crackling flames burn our family’s livelihood and home as the firefighters rushed in.
Behind her, Hailey’s face is twisted in a frown, maybe reliving her own memories.
“I should have called 911,” Sydney continues. “Obviously. Everything seems so obvious now.”
“You didn’t?” I ask. Then how did Nick show up?
“I… I panicked and ran out the door. I didn’t even realize where I was running until I got to the fire station.”
“You left Hailey alone with a burning oven?”
Sydney’s mouth drops, as if she hadn’t made that connection, and turns back to look at our youngest sister.
“It’s fine,” Hailey says, disinfecting one of the stainless steel islands in the center of the room. “I’m fine. Really.”
Sydney makes a noise like she wants to argue but Hailey cuts her off.
“Continue the story. You were only gone five minutes. Nothing bad happened.”
Sydney turns back to me, a mixture of shame and guilt on her face. “Anyway, Nick was there. I tried explaining but it was coming out so scattered. Once he understood, he asked if you were okay. He seemed so worried. And when I said yes, he ran out the door.”
He was worried about me? No, she must mean the bakery. “He didn’t bring the fire truck? Or, I don’t know, another firefighter?”
She shakes her head. “He dropped everything and came straight here. Didn’t even change his clothes.”
Hailey says, “He burst in the front door and asked where the fire extinguisher was. I didn’t even realize there was a fire.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Shouldn’t our smoke alarm have gone off?
“He put it out in about two seconds,” Hailey continues. “And then was trying to find the source of the fire when you came in.”
I nod, digesting all this information. “Come here.” I spread my arms wide and motion for them both to get closer, wrapping them in my embrace when they do. “We have the bakery and we have each other. That’s all I care about.”
“Me, too,” Hailey agrees.
“Same,” Sydney mumbles.
We keep the bakery closed for the day since it’s already two in the afternoon and we normally close at three, open all the windows to air the place out, and clean it to within an inch of its life, getting rid of all traces of the fire. Out of sight, out of mind.
Thankfully, we have two industrial ovens, so we can put the malfunctioning one out of commission until I figure out what’s wrong with it. I put a big X with duct tape over the doors for now.
When we’re done, Hailey goes back up front to count the register while I help Sydney remake the baby shower cupcakes that are scheduled for pickup first thing tomorrow.
As she’s piping flowers onto one, she asks, “Why didn’t you tell Jae about Nick?”
I shrug, not wanting to examine that too closely. “You know her. She’ll make a big thing out of it.”
“That he burned down our bakery?”
Yeah. That.
2
Nick
“Henderson. My office.”
Ah, shit.
I pause inventorying the PPE and follow Chief Adkins, ignoring Mark’s look of pity directed my way. I’ve been dreading this meeting, but thought I’d have more time.
Chief takes a seat behind his polished wooden desk, folding his hands over his midsection, and calmly waits for me to take the seat opposite him.
I hate sitting in this chair. It reminds me of the first time I came here, fresh out of juvie and scared out of my mind about what he was going to make me do for my community service punishment.
“You want to tell me what happened this afternoon?”
I swallow hard. His voice is even, but there’s a glint in his eye I’m all too familiar with. “I wrote a report—”
“I read it,” he interrupts. “But what I want to hear about is the part where you responded to a call like a bat out of hell. No protective gear. No communication with your partner or dispatch. No tools. What were you thinking?”
My chin drops to my chest. “I wasn’t, sir. I’m sorry.”
He’s silent, waiting for more.
“I acted on instinct,” I continue haltingly. That terrible instant when Sydney said there was a fire at the bakery. Thinking Rachel was trapped in it. Needing more than anything to get there as soon as possible to check for myself that she wasn’t.
Even if it wasn’t logical.
Even if she hates me.
“I can’t explain it. When I heard it was the bakery, I…”
Words fail me.
Chief sighs, but remains quiet.
Even knowing it’s a tactic he uses to get others to talk, I can’t help asking, “Am I suspended?”
He gives a second sigh. “No, you’re not. If this happened anywhere but the bakery…”
He lets that hang in the air. He of all people knows how much I’ve tried to atone for my past.
“It won’t happen again, right?”
“Absolutely not.” I only have to make a mistake one time to learn from it.
He nods, as if the matter is settled. Thank God. I hate disappointing him. Even so…
“What’s my punishment?” There’s no way I’m off the hook that easy.
One side of his mouth lifts in the smallest grin. If I hadn’t worked with him for so long, I don’t think I’d have recognized it.
“Henry is leaving in a few weeks.”
That’s not news. Everyone knows he’s moving to Pittsburgh to be a captain at a station there. There’s not much room for advancement here in Aurora. We’re lucky we have enough full-time staff as we do.
“Okay…” I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
“And he’s in charge of fundraising.”
My stomach drops. No. Oh, hell no. “You can’t be serious.”
“You know anyone else that can do it?”
My mouth opens, then shuts. Jamal could… No, he’d be terrible at it. Maybe Mark… No, he’d be even worse. Miguel or Daniel… Shit.
“You’re it, kid,” Chief Adkins says. “I’ve run through the possibilities myself and you’re our best bet.”
I blink stupidly at him. If I’m our best bet, what does that say for the future of our station?
“But we need money. If I screw this up—”
“You won’t. You’re organized, you pay attention to details, you have good ideas. You can do it.”
I shake my head, sinking into my seat at his kind words. I thought I’d be getting a dressing down coming in here, not all this praise. I’m not sure which I’d like better.
“Henry is extroverted,” I say, making a last-ditch effort. “He schmoozes and gets people to give us money. They like him.”
Some people can’t forget what I did when I was fifteen years old. They’ll never respond to me the same way.
“You could—”
“Nope.” His voice is kind, but firm. “I have too much else to do. Listen, you’ll learn as you go. And I’ll be here if you have questions. I’m not throwing you straight in the deep end.”
That’s exactly what he’s doing. But he’s right that no one else at the station is a good fit, either.
This is going to be a fucking shit show.
“And I have your first task for you.” His smirk is more obvious now.
So he’s been planning this. It isn’t a punishment for what happened earlier. He just knows I feel guilty about it, so I won’t cause a fuss.
“What is it?” I ask, heavy with weariness.
“Go pick up an order at Aurora Bakery tomorrow.”
What? That’s it?
Then again, he knows I avoid the bakery like the plague.
“Okay… What for?” Is this a personal errand or something?
“The elementary school is coming in for their annual station tour. The bakery donates five hundred cookies for it every year.”
Oh, the station tour. I’m not scheduled to work tomorrow, so it slipped my mind.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
I can see Rachel two days in a row when I haven’t talked to her in years.
No problem.
***
The bell above the door tinkles merrily as I enter the bakery, a detail I missed yesterday in my mad rush. It’s cozy in here, with rustic wooden shelves bracketing either side of a huge glass display case filled with treats. My mouth waters eyeing the flaky croissants and frosted fudge brownies.
I’d never been in here before yesterday. Even before the fire twelve years ago, my family wasn’t the type to buy luxuries like freshly baked sweets. And afterward, I wouldn’t have dared to come in and piss off the Blackwells with my presence.
“Nick.”
The voice isn’t quite—
I curb my knee-jerk disappointment when I make eye contact with Hailey behind the counter. She has the same dark hair as Rachel, although brown eyes instead of hazel, and she’s not quite as tall. All three sisters look a lot alike, but neither Hailey nor Sydney are as pretty as Rachel.
Not that I’m biased.
Actually, it’s a good thing Rachel’s not out here. Less of a chance I’ll make a complete idiot of myself.
“Did you need to follow up about the fire?” She points toward the double doors that lead to the kitchen area. “Rachel already made some calls about the oven.”
“No. I’m here to pick up the order for the fire station.”
She gives me a blank look. “What order?”
“It’s for five hundred cookies.”
Her eyes widen in alarm before she taps at the terminal in front of her. “Um, just a second. I don’t remember seeing an order for that, but let me double check.”
Chief said today, right? He wouldn’t make it up as part of my punishment, would he?
The doors to the back open, and Rachel walks through, carrying a large tray of cinnamon rolls slathered with cream cheese frosting and fruit danishes drizzled with icing sugar. Oh man, those look good.
Rachel stops in mid-stride when she notices me, the tray wavering in her hands.
I move automatically to help her stabilize it, but I’m nowhere near close enough. Thankfully, Hailey grabs the edge before everything spills to the floor.
“Sorry.” Rachel shakes her head, staring down at the pastries. “What are you doing here?”
Though she isn’t looking at me, it’s obvious who she’s talking to. “I’m picking up an order for the fire station.”
“Do you remember seeing an order for five hundred cookies?” Hailey whispers to her sister.
Rachel blinks rapidly at her. “Five hundred?” She turns to me. “For what?”
I startle, getting caught up for a moment in her eyes, flecked with hints of green and gold. “The elementary school station tour today. Chief Adkins said your parents donate them every year.”
Her face falls, lips pursing. “Ah. My parents.”
A similar dawning of comprehension appears on Hailey’s face. “Let me call them.”
“No, I’ll—”
Rachel stops mid-sentence when Hailey disappears in the back.
“Sorry about this,” she says. “We’re not normally this disorganized.”
“It’s fine.” I stick my hands in my pockets, unsure what to do with them. “Do you need help with…”
“Oh.” She looks down at the tray still in her hands. “Right. Let me put these away.”
Sliding open the back of the glass display case, she fills two empty rows with the pastries.
“Could I have one of those?” I motion to the last danish on her tray. “That one there?”
She looks at the danish, then at me. “I have to charge you.”
“Yeah, of course. That’s what I meant. I didn’t expect you to just give it to me.”
I force myself to stop rambling. God, could this be any more awkward?
She rings me up and hands me the golden-brown pastry in a paper sleeve, still warm to the touch. It glistens with a light sheen of butter and sugar, tiny flakes breaking away to hint at the layers within.
She goes back to fiddling with the pastry case and I take that as my cue that she doesn’t want to talk anymore. Chief sure called it when he made this part of my punishment.
I take a huge bite of the danish for something to do, and it practically melts in my mouth, crumbling with the perfect balance of crispness and sweetness, followed by a burst of tangy raspberry. Oh, fuck, that’s good.
Rachel makes a sound of amusement and I look over at her, surprised at the slight smile on her face. I don’t think she’s ever smiled around me.
“What?” I ask, bits of danish escaping my mouth. I quickly wipe them away and stuff the half-eaten pastry back in its sleeve.
She gestures toward me. “You made a funny sound.”
Shit. What did I do now? “I did?”
She nods. “Like you were having a… private moment with the danish.”
“Oh.” Heat touches my cheeks briefly. “I guess I was. It’s amazing.”
She gives me a brief nod. “Thanks.”
“You made it?”
She makes a sound of affirmation. “Yeah. I’ve been working on perfecting the recipe lately, actually.”
“Well, you have a winner. I’ve never had one this good.”
Her head tilts to the side. “Where do you normally get yours? I’ve never seen you in here.”
“The grocery store.”
Her immediate tsk is so loud, it’s almost comical. “Oh, no. They don’t even have a proper bakery. Danishes are meant to be experienced freshly baked. It’s not worth it otherwise.”
I keep my smile to myself at her passionate outburst. It’s the most she’s ever spoken to me.
“Now I know.” I take a second bite, savoring the buttery richness, and contemplate my next question. “Would it be okay if I came back some time to get another?”
She seems to pick up on the unspoken subtext. Is it okay for me to be here?
“Sure.” She smooths her hands down her apron. “That’d be fine.”
As basic as it is, her answer does more than she knows to ease the ever-present tension in my gut when it comes to this bakery and her.
Hailey returns, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Nick. Apparently, our parents donate them every year, but don’t put it as an order in the system since we don’t get paid.”
Rachel makes a quick sound of exasperation before stopping herself and turning away.
Hailey holds her hands out helplessly. “We don’t have the cookies.”
Ah, shit. My first job is in the crapper. Still, I don’t want Rachel and Hailey to feel bad about it. It’s not their fault.
“No sweat,” I tell them. “I’ll pick some up at—”
“Don’t say the grocery store,” Rachel says, turning back toward me, her finger pointing accusingly. “And we honor our promises. Even if we didn’t know we made them.”
“I… Okay.” I’ll go along with whatever she says.
“How are we going to make five hundred cookies?” Hailey murmurs to her sister. “Should I call Sydney?”
Rachel bites her lip. “No, she deserves her day off. I’ll make it work. I always do.”
A couple comes in and I step aside so they can browse the pastry case. As Hailey answers their questions, Rachel runs a hand through her dark hair, wisps of it escaping her ponytail, and closes her eyes, the lines bracketing her mouth suddenly appearing more pronounced.
“I can help.” The words escape before I can snatch them back. What am I doing? She already rejected my offers of help yesterday, first to examine what went wrong with the oven, then to clean up. “If you want,” I add lamely.
She gives a half-smile. “I don’t make customers help with their own orders.”
“Well, it’s technically not an order. It’s not in the system.”
That earns me a slightly wider smile, almost like it’s against her will, but I’ll take it, fist pumping the air on the inside.
“Don’t you have to get back to the fire station? I can deliver them later.”
“It’s my day off.”
She blows out a breath. “Even worse. You shouldn’t be working on your day off.”
I shrug. “Yeah, but I just dumped a lot of extra work on you. It’s the least I can do.”
She hesitates, biting at her lip again as she stares at the double doors to the kitchen. “Normally, I’d never say yes. But five hundred…” She makes a helpless noise. “Come on.”
I catch Hailey’s look of surprise as I follow her sister to the back.
“What cookies are we making?” Rachel asks, retightening her apron strings. She hands me a spare apron hanging on a wall hook, and I quickly put it on, copying the way she does it with the strings looped around the back and tied in the front, then put on the gloves she hands me next.
“I have no idea,” I admit. “Chief didn’t give many details.”
She takes a deep breath. “Okay. Snickerdoodles it is. Kids like those.”
Sure. Whatever she thinks is best.
She tells me we can do four batches of 125 cookies, then sets me to work lining trays with parchment paper while she does some quick calculations to figure out ingredient amounts.
“Okay, ten blocks of butter,” she murmurs and when she pulls them out of the walk-in cooler, my eyes nearly bug out. That’s an obscene amount.
She sets a portion of already softened butter aside and dumps it in an oversized stand mixer, setting it to low. “Can you measure out six cups of sugar?” she asks, gesturing to a shelving rack in the corner with labeled airtight containers.
I do as she asks and watch her slowly add the sugar in to the mixer.
“Can you get me ten eggs? They’re in the cooler.”
Ten? Jesus? And that’s just for this batch? How much is this all going to cost her in ingredients alone?
She instructs me on what to do next for the dry ingredients, measuring them out and whisking them together in the biggest bowl I’ve ever seen while she adds the eggs to her butter and sugar.
Though our conversation is sparse and purely cookie-related, I find myself relaxing the longer we continue, like maybe I can actually be around her without spazzing. God, does she have any clue about the crush I had on her back in high school?
I sat behind her in ninth grade algebra, and I spent more time captivated by the fall of her long, dark hair than I ever was about equations. She kept it in a ponytail every day, the same as she’s wearing it now, and sometimes the ends would brush my desk.
I vividly imagined wrapping my hand around the thick mane and gently tugging, desperate to see how she’d react, if she’d finally notice me, with no real intention of actually doing it. Back then, there was a lot I didn’t do. I was an observer, not a doer.
And the things I did, I’d give anything to take back.
“So how’d you get roped into this?” she asks, startling me out of my reverie. “Since it’s your day off.”
I keep whisking the dry ingredients, blending it all together. “I have to help with fundraising for the fire station.”
Her brows raise. “Voluntold?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, something like that. I’m even in charge of planning our next fundraiser.” There’s another beat of silence, and I push past my natural instinct to leave it at that. When will I ever have a chance to talk to Rachel like this again? “It’s actually part of my punishment. I broke protocol putting out the fire here the way I did.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “What’d you do?”
“I…” Shit. I shouldn’t have told her that. I should be making myself look good in front of her. Not like an idiot. “I wasn’t thinking right. Just followed Sydney here without my gear or telling anyone at the firehouse.” Another pause. “Guess I’m lucky I didn’t get suspended.”
She’s quiet, concentrating on breaking the eggs before she responds. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Yeah?” It’s all I can seem to say, as her small smile directed my way is a shock to my chest.
“I wouldn’t have anyone to help me with these cookies, otherwise.”
I nod, not knowing what else to say. I still can’t believe she let me help her. That she didn’t kick me out the moment she saw me in the bakery, even if I put out that fire.
It doesn’t make up for what I did.
That firecracker going off in the wrong direction. The dry leaves piled against the weathered wooden side of the bakery acting as kindling. And the sudden wind fanning the flames, making conditions just right.
I’d stared at the growing flames, horrified, unable to stop it. That time of my life is hazy, so soon after Mom’s death, but I remember that moment crystal clear. The panic that should have made me run, but instead kept me rooted to the spot, the fire feeding it.
Not wanting to go home to a husk of a father. Instead, considering stepping forward. The flames were warm, and I was so cold inside.
The direction of my thoughts had finally propelled me to move, appalled and disturbed, running as fast as I could down the alley behind the bakery to the fire station two blocks away.
I found out later Rachel and her family had been inside their apartment upstairs at the time.
The memory sickens me all over again and I set my bowl down, taking a moment to compose myself.
She’s over there working at the mixer, unaware of my thoughts. Unaware that I wish I could make things up to her.
Being forced to do community service at the fire station after juvie had turned my life around in a lot of ways. But one thing I could never bring myself to do was go to the bakery again.
To face her.
Rachel will always be a what-if. But this time…
Well, maybe this time, I won’t completely fuck it up.
Allie Winters 