"It's beautiful," she says quietly. "You should be proud."
"I'm just relieved it survived," I admit.
"It's more than that," she says. "This cake is everything you promised it would be. Resilience. Renewal. Hope."
I look at her, and the way she sees me makes my chest tight.
Before I can respond, the front door opens, and Evan walks in. He stops short when he sees us, and his face breaks into a grin.
"You’re here," he says. "I was just coming to check on the place, I figured you would be at your mom's until the all-clear."
"Couldn’t stay away," I say. "I needed to make sure everything was okay."
"Well, we got lucky," Evan says, walking over to inspect the cake. "The fire came close, but the wind shifted just in time. A few blocks south got hit hard, though, the yoga studio lost part of its roof."
My stomach sinks. "Rebecca's place?"
"Yeah, she’s okay, but the building took some damage."
I make a mental note to check in with her later. Valentine is a small town, when one person hurts, we all feel it.
Evan glances between me and Piper, and his grin turns knowing. "So, you two look cozy."
"Evan," I warn.
"What? I'm just saying. You have that look."
"What look?" Piper asks, amused.
"The look of a man who finally pulled his head out of his ass," Evan says cheerfully.
I glare at him, but there is no real heat in it. "Don't you have work to do?"
"Not really, the bakery was closed yesterday, and we don't open until tomorrow. I'm just here to make sure nothing exploded."
"Nothing exploded," I confirm.
"Good, then I'll leave you lovebirds alone." He winks at Piper. "Take care of him, he needs it."
After Evan leaves, the bakery feels quiet again, peaceful even. Maddie wanders over to her little table and starts coloring, and Piper sets her camera down to help me check the equipment.
We work in comfortable silence, testing the ovens, making sure nothing was damaged during the evacuation. Everything is fine. Everything is intact.
And yet, I can't shake the feeling that something is about to change.
"Dylan," Piper says after a while. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
She leans against the counter, her arms crossed. "What are you going to do about the festival? Do you think it will still happen?"
"I don't know," I admit. "The committee will probably meet today to decide. But honestly, after everything that just happened, I think this town needs the festival more than ever."
She nods slowly. "You’re right. People need something to celebrate, something to remind them that they survived."
"Exactly."
She looks at the phoenix cake, then back at me. "This is going to mean everything to them."
