Cody’s eyes meet mine, and he mouths, “Morning.”
I smile back and silently mouth, “Morning,” back to him—reflexive, easy, the way I always do.
I don’t stare at Cody across the bakery counter. I just … notice him. How can I not? My pulse accelerates into that same traitorous lope it’s done since I was fifteen.
“Carli?” Mrs. Hellman says, drawing me back to the task at hand.
“Yes?”
“I asked if you had the cake I ordered, dear? I’m having a little gathering of single women at my home tonight. You’re welcome to join us.”
Mrs. Hellman is seventy if she’s a day. She means well, bless her. But nothing says I need to rethink my life choiceslike spending Valentine’s with a group of our town’s single seniors.
“Oh. I wish I could,” I tell Mrs. Hellman. “But I’ve got to get my sleep. I’m picking McKenna up from the airport tomorrow.”
“Maybe next time, then,” Mrs. Hellman says. “And you tell McKenna hello for me. She’s a cutie, that one.”
I nod and duck into the back to look for Mrs. Hellman’s cake since it was a preorder.
The line inches forward, and it’s not long before Cody and the other two firemen are standing in front of me like they're posing for a social media post where firefighters run from flames with their shirts off. Only, our local heroes’ shirts are on—thankfully. Valentine’s Day at a bakery is chaotic enough without releasing the kraken.
“We’re here to pitch in,” Cody says, his eyes warm and focused on me.
“You’re what?”
Dustin steps in as if I need a translator. Pointing to himself and then Cody and Patrick, he says, “Three firefighters—hot and ready.”
I let out a little snort-laugh.Smooth, Carli.
Patrick steps in. “What they’re trying to say is that Captain heard about the rush and sent us over to pitch in. We’re here until we get a call or until the crowd thins.”
Emberleigh has made her way over to the register. “Is there a problem?” she asks. Then she addresses her fiancé. “You three are holding up the line.”
“You’re cute when you’re busy,” Dustin says, winking at Emberleigh like she’s his world.
They are holding up the line, but the town makes exceptions for our firemen, so no one’s griping—yet.
“Dustin,” Emberleigh huffs out.
“We’re here to help. I just told the guys to come in themain door because I know you get upset when people stomp through your kitchen. It’s sacred space. So …” He splays his arms wide, bumping another customer in the shoulder and apologizing. “... here we are!” He finishes with less flourish.
Emberleigh looks at Patrick, Dustin and Cody as if they’re kindergarten classmates offering to finish the delicate job of icing the pastries.
“Fine.” She points at them. “But no going into the kitchen. And … Thank you.”
They walk to the end of the counter, weaving between customers who are now so crowded into the bakery we might be breaking the fire ordinance. I guess if we are, we’re covered.
Lifting the hinged section of the counter, the three of them shuffle in and take up twice the space of normal humans. It’s suddenly hot and crowded … and Cody is right behind me, speaking in a low voice from over my shoulder.
I turn to face him.
“Can I cover the register for you?” he asks. “I think I’ll mess up less than I would if I were trying to box baked goods.”
“Sure.” He already knows the drill—we’ve manned plenty of farmers’ market booths side by side.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, Chuck.” He gives me that familiar smile—the one that sometimes feels like it’s meant just for me. I know better than to read into it.
And, yes. He calls me Chuck—a nickname he made up when I was a gangly preteen and never let go of. I pretend to roll my eyes. But secretly? I don’t hate it.
