Minutes later, Bobbi returned with reinforcements. Santa’s stunt double carried over a folding table. Someone else brought a red tablecloth and a hand-paintedFresh Cinnamon Rollssign. A candle vendor offered up the community kitchen in the church basement.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I told her, teary-eyed.
“Honey, we take care of our own.” She smiled. “Even the new ones.”
Our own. The words hit somewhere deep.
Torch and I hauled everything to the church kitchen. It was warm and smelled like heaven. A woman in an apron waved us toward an oven.
“Third one’s yours, sweetheart. Timer’s on the wall.”
“You don’t even know me,” I said.
“You’re with Torch,” she said simply. “That’s enough.”
And just like that, we were baking. Torch slid trays into the ovens while I whipped up icing. Within minutes, we were dusted in flour and sugar, laughing, bumping shoulders like we’d done this a hundred times.
“This is actually kinda fun,” he said.
“You’ve never worked food service before?”
“Nope. But I like it.” He shot me a grin. “I like doing this with you.”
My chest tightened. “Yeah. Me too.”
The first batch came out perfect—golden, soft, iced to glossy perfection. We packed them up and raced back to the booth, where a crowd was already forming.
“Are those ready?” a woman asked.
“Yes!” I said, then added quickly, “Classic vanilla or maple pecan?—”
“Two classic!” She was already handing me cash.
And we were in business.
Three hours flew by. We sold out. People raved. A little boy declared they were “better than Grandma’s,” earning a scandalized laugh from his grandma.
Torch was beside me the whole time—taking money, flirting with grandmas, high-fiving kids. He belonged here. And somehow, by his side, I did too.
By two o’clock, our trays were empty.
“We did it,” I said, dazed.
“You did it.” He pulled me close. “I just drove.”
“You saved the day.”
“We saved it. Together.”
I turned in his arms, snow starting to fall again, lights twinkling all around us. It was disgustingly magical.
“I don’t want to go back,” I whispered.
He stilled. “What?”
“To California. I mean, I have to. For work. For now. But I don’t want to leave this. You.”
His brow furrowed. “Demi, you don’t have to decide now?—”
