The apprentices filter out, full of pastries and pride. The training kitchen quiets. The regular bakery next door is still running. Still normal. Still ours.
And then Gwen’s phone buzzes.
She glances down, then makes a face like someone just offered her a salad.
“Oh, hell,” she mutters.
“What?” I ask.
Gwen holds up her screen. “Community center group chat.”
Leo perks up immediately because he’s a golden retriever disguised as a man.
“What’s happening?” he asks, leaning in.
Gwen angles the phone away from him instinctively, as if he’s going to buy the community center by accident.
“It’s not your business,” she says.
Leo lifts his hands. “Ok. Consent. Boundaries. I’m learning.”
I blink at him. He gives me a small, careful smile, like he knows he just scored a point but isn’t going to celebrate it.
Gwen groans. “I hate you both.”
“Read it,” I say.
Gwen sighs dramatically and reads out loud.
“Attention. The Grizzlies vs Blades game is coming to town. Tryouts are open. Skate for charity. If interested, comment or add your name to the bowl at the front desk.”
I stare at her. Then at Leo. Then back at Gwen.
“I didn’t know you played ice hockey,” I say.
Gwen’s expression goes blank. “I don’t.”
Leo’s eyes light up with a dangerous, delighted spark. “You should.”
Gwen squints at him. “No.”
Leo leans back against the counter like he’s settling in for an event. “Yes.”
Gwen points at him. “You. Don’t. Get. Ideas.”
Leo crosses his arms. “I already have the idea.”
I watch Gwen’s face shift through three emotions: annoyance, suspicion, and then, most importantly, fear.
“Why are you smiling like that?” she asks him.
Leo’s smile grows. “Because you said you would do anything I want if I beat you. Remember?”
Gwen goes very still. “In what universe?”
“In the universe where you challenged me to a box-folding competition,” he says, voice innocent, “and then made it a dare because you’re incapable of being normal.”
I blink. “You two had a box-folding competition?”
