My body goes cold.
Then hot.
Then cold again.
“Oh no,” I whisper. “No no no.”
I look toward the back. Maisie is sitting at the prep table, legs swinging, pretending she is not plotting something. She hums louder when she notices me staring at her.
“Maisie,” I say, walking over slowly. “Did you give someone a note?”
Her eyes widen. “Maybe.”
“That looks like your handwriting.”
“I have new handwriting,” she says quickly. “It’s a mystery.”
“Maisie.”
She sighs and slumps in her chair. “Fine. It was me. But you would have said no if I asked.”
“That is because I would have said no.”
She nods like this proves her point.
“Who did you give the note to?” I ask.
Before she can answer, the front bell rings.
I close my eyes. “Please be a delivery driver,” I whisper.
It is not a delivery driver.
Charlotte steps into the bakery with a bright smile and her clipboard tucked under her arm. “I got your note,” she says as soon as she sees me. “It was stuck to the front door.”
I want the ground to swallow me.
Maisie waves proudly from behind me. “Hi!”
Charlotte lifts the yellow paper. “Cookie test sounds important.”
I put my face in my hands. “I am so sorry,” I say through my fingers. “I didn’t know she did that.”
Charlotte laughs, but it’s warm, not mocking. “Honestly, it might be the best invitation I have gotten in years.”
Maisie beams like she just won a trophy.
“Come on,” she tells Charlotte. “We have work to do.”
Charlotte looks at me for permission. My brain tells me I should decline. My mouth does not listen.
“She has already planned this,” I say. “There is no stopping it.”
Charlotte walks over, and I feel it right away, the quiet pull she brings with her. It runs along my skin and before I can react, she puts her bag down on the prep table.
Maisie pushes a stool toward her. “Sit here. You can help me decorate.”
Charlotte takes the seat. “I would be honored.”
