“How? Where are you going to get that kind of money?”
“I don’t know!” The words come out sharper than I intend. “I’m sorry, Fab. I just—I need time to think.”
We hang up. I sit in my car during my lunch break and let myself fall apart.
Just for a minute.
I press my palms against my eyes and try not to cry. I’m so tired of being the one who fixes everything. So tired of holding it all together.
My phone rings again. This time it’s Grandma Joyce.
I take a breath and answer in my most cheerful voice. “Hey, Grandma!”
“Hi sweetheart, quick question about the Fireman’s Ball. Do you need help with catering? Judy and I were thinking?—”
We talk for ten minutes about appetizers and dessert tables and whether the chickaree merchandise will include fridge magnets. I make interested sounds and pretend my world isn’t a chemical fire.
When we finally hang up, I sit in silence.
Through the windshield, I glimpse Patton by the fire engine, talking to his crew. Even from here, he’s magnetic. Powerful shoulders. Easy confidence. The way he gestures with his hands when he’s explaining something.
The man is so handsome it makes my skin hum.
And he kissed me.
But if he knew the full extent of how messy my life is—the debt, the failing family business, the fact that I’m one crisis away from completely unraveling—would he still want me?
I watch him excuse himself from the conversation.
He picks up a pastry box off the step of the engine and starts toward my car.
My pulse goes on a rollercoaster ride as he opens the passenger door and slides in without asking, bringing with him cold air and the scent of woodsmoke.
“Thought you might need this.” He hands me the box with the finalized Crush Cakes logo. Inside the Maltese Cross, common on fire department symbols, instead of a crossed axe and ladder like on the Huckleberry Hill scramble, there is a crossed rolling pin and spatula. It’s emblazoned with the wordsFire House Bakery—the one we finalized together.
“I like your logo.”
Eyes landing on me, he says, “I happen to know the amazing woman who made it.”
“I think it’s charming.”
“She’s charming.”
My cheeks go up in flames.
Lifting the lid, inside is a single Crush Cake—chocolate with what looks like raspberry frosting and pearl sugar sprinkles.
“Tell me if you like the flavor.”
“You know, this is my first one.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He inclines his head, thinking back.
“You denied me one when you, Austin, and Reese were testing recipes. Said it was reserved for Nancy in admin.”
