He almost fell off the chair. “Youwhat?”
“I turned them off. Do you have any idea how much water damage they can cause?”
He didn’t know whether to be shocked by her blatant disregard for rules and regulations, or to be stunned by the thought of a baker burning her goods so frequently that fire sprinklers became a nuisance. Maybe this woman was in the wrong profession.
With a groan of disapproval he was powerless to suppress, he stepped down from the chair and handed her back her oven mitt before pressing his fingers to his temples. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“You could start with your name.” She tugged off the other oven mitt and pitched it to the counter, hand outstretched for an obligatory shake. “Mine’s Faith. Faith Porter.”
“Mitchell Abernathy.” Faith’s hand felt so small—and surprisingly comfortable—within his own that he almost didn’t want to let go. “But you can call me Mitch.”
“Well, Mitch, thank you for helping with the smoke alarm situation, but I’ve got things under control from here.”
If that was a direct missive to continue on his way, Mitch hadn’t received it. “You mentioned you were baking cookies.”
Faith pushed her strawberry blonde hair from her face, and Mitch noticed a fine sheen of sweat glistening along her brow. Despite her protest to the contrary, it was obvious she had been more than a little flustered by the incident.
Blowing out her frustration in a long, measured breath, she finally answered, “Yes. I take cookies down to the firefighters once a week. Sometimes more if my schedule allows for it.”
“And that’s what you were burning just now?”
“What I wasbakingjust now.”
He cocked his head and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “I mean, you were burning them, though, right? That’s clearly what created all this smoke.”
“I just need to clean the oven. Pretty sure something spilled on the bottom—maybe the juices from one of the blueberry pies I baked yesterday—and it was burning off. The cookies appear fine.”
Mitch glanced at the tray of blackened lumps cooling on the glass pastry case that housed a colorful assortment of unscorched pastries. “If by fine you mean they’ve turned into charcoal briquettes, sure. Totally fine.”
Faith’s eyes popped open, along with her mouth. She shut the latter promptly. “You obviously have never enjoyed a Summit Sweets treat. Everything I create is top notch. These are supposed to look like that.”
“I prefer cookies that don’t taste like soot.”
“The cookies do not taste like soot. Plus,”—she hip checked him on her way back behind the counter, placing an intentional distance between them that made something in Mitch’s chest sag subtly in disappointment—“they’re not for you. They’re for our first responders.”
“In fairness, I was the first to respond to this particular emergency.”
Her mint green eyes did a full-on roll. “Oh, I wouldhardlycall this an emergency. Just a little hiccup in a day of a very busy baker.”
“More than a hiccup. You were literally choking on smoke when you came stumbling out of your bakery.”
“I wasn’t choking, and I wasn’t stumbling.” She jammed her oven mitts back onto her hands with an aggression that had a smile curling up the corners of Mitch’s mouth. Faith was feisty. “But as I mentioned before, I am busy, so if you’ll kindly be on your way.”
“I could take these over to the firehouse for you.” He made a move to pick up the cookie sheet, but Faith’s mitted hand shot out and cuffed his arm before he could complete the motion.
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
“I was headed that direction.” He arched a brow. “Unless you’re saying these aren’t edible.”
“They’re perfectly edible.”
To prove her point, she peeled the oven mitt off again and plucked a cookie from the tray, then bit down on it with her front teeth. She was lucky she didn’t crack one of her canines. The burnt cookie broke off crudely, bits of blackened morsels falling to the counter as the charred remnants of the unfortunate culinary disaster. Several crumbs clung to her lips. She tried to lick them clean, but her tongue caught on the grainy texture.
“Delicious,” she emphasized with a big grin. It looked like the woman had brushed her teeth with ground black pepper. “Best batch yet.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that.”
She openly stared at him, a wordless prompt to move along delivered as clearly as a boot to his backside.
