“The shop,” she said with a crisp, definitive nod. “I want to start by taking photos of everything for the insurance claim. Then I need to set things to rights, clean and make a list of the supplies I’ll need to be back up and running as soon as possible. And I’ll want to check all the equipment to make sure nothing was tampered with.”
“I’m yours to command.”
Amelie snapped photos of the damage done to the bakery, using her cell phone to capture multiple angles of the damages until she was satisfied. Maurice followed her up to the apartment, where she did the same.
As she finished in one room, he straightened furniture, put drawers back into cabinets and dressers and aligned the mattress with the bed.
Once Amelie had all the pictures she deemed necessary, they returned to the bakery below and started cleaning.
Maurice went straight to the worst offender—the ripped back of flour still spilling its contents from the hole in its middle. “Do you have a plastic trash bag we can deposit this into?”
She appeared behind him, holding a heavy-duty garbage bag open for him. She smiled at him. “Will this do?”
He nodded and gathered the torn bag from the shelf. As he turned, his foot slipped in the powdery flour on the floor. He pitched forward, aiming the leaking bag of flour toward the open garbage bag and praying it would find its mark.
When the sack made it into the trash bag, it landed with enough force to send a huge puff of flour into the air, depositing a thick coat of white powder on anything within a two-foot radius, including Amelie’s hair, face and the arms holding the bag.
She blinked. White dust floated down, turning her black hair gray and coating her cheeks. She bent over, her shoulders shaking.
“Amelie, I’m so sorry.” Maurice touched a hand to her back, noting how her body shook. “Are you okay?”
She pressed a hand to her side.
“Seriously, are you okay?” Maurice hovered over her.
She nodded without looking up. Then she dug her hand into the trash bag and raised it with a fist full of flour, her eyes sparkling with mischief in her powdered face.
Maurice held his hands up. “You wouldn’t...”
“Watch me.” She uncurled her fingers and blew flour into Maurice’s face.
He staggered backward, blinking the dust from his eyes.
Amelie burst out laughing so hard she fell to her knees and sat in the flour blanketing the floor. She laughed until tears filled her eyes.
Stunned by Amelie’s streak of playfulness, Maurice stood for a moment in shock, but then laughter bubbled up in his chest, and he joined her.
Slowly, Amelie’s laughter choked off, the tears spilling down her face left naked trails through the powder on her cheeks.
Maurice’s laughter faded as he realized her burst of levity was a desperate release of adrenaline and shock.
He dropped down beside her and pulled her into his arms. For several minutes, they sat in silence amidst the mess of her bakery, her business, her livelihood.
He didn’t offer any more words of encouragement. What could he say that he hadn’t already? The best he could do was be there for her. She didn’t have to face the destruction of her home and business alone.
He found that he liked holding her, feeling the warmth of her body pressed to his. Just when that thought occurred to him, she leaned back, squared her shoulders and said, “I really don’t have time for a pity party.”
“You’re allowed a little time for it.”
She shook her head. “Not when I have so much work to do.” Her back stiffened along with her resolve.
Maurice stood, helped Amelie to her feet and held onto her hands a little longer than necessary, reluctant to release her.
“Thanks for letting me have a moment of weakness.” She gave him a watery smile. “I promise not to do it again.”
“And the flour in the face?”
“Oh, I’d do that again,” she said with a wink, and marched toward the storage room. A moment later, she returned with several large garbage bags. “We’ll start by removing all the baked goods from the display cases and refrigerators.”
