The young girl beamed. “I’ve got my dress all picked out. It’s bright pink. I look like a cupcake,” she said, her eyes sparkling. Apparently, looking like a pastry was considered a good thing when you were in the first grade.
“Well, I certainly hope to see you there in all your pink cupcake glory.” Mitch needed to finish his run before sundown. He still couldn’t quite get over how much earlier the sun set with the big mountain peaks to obscure it. “And tell your mom thanks for always leaving out the water. And thankyoufor the bracelet.”
“Did you pick the one that says hero?” There was a look of hope-filled expectation on the girl’s face. Mitch didn’t have the heart to tell her he was anything but a hero. Some might call him the exact opposite. He sure did.
“I picked out the superstar one for a friend of mine,” he replied.
“You need the hero bracelet.” The girl shook her head like he’d done something wrong. She made big steps over toward the folding table and then rummaged around in the basket, pushing bracelets aside until she found the one under consideration. “You’re a firefighter, so that automatically makes you a hero.”
He felt like the world’s biggest fraud as he took the beaded bracelet from her hand and slipped it onto his wrist. It felt too tight. Too constricting. A reminder that not even the word on the bracelet fit his reality.
“Abernathy,I’ve got you on inspection duty for the Sweetheart Soiree,” Captain Anderson informed Mitch the moment he returned from his run. “We do a rotation around here, and you’re next up. You good with that?”
Mitch had been involved in many permit inspections back at his last firehouse, and while the code compliancy might be a little different in this county, he was sure it wouldn’t be a problem. He’d just need to read up on the particulars. “Yeah, I can handle that.”
“Great. I know that Faith is your friend, but I’m counting on you to not cut any corners with this. Last year, we had a bit of an issue with the emergency exits being blocked by a couple of large floral arrangements. Don’t want that to happen again.”
“You can count on me,” he guaranteed. This was right in Mitch’s wheelhouse, much to Faith’s dismay. “When’s the inspection scheduled for?”
“Monday, and the event is next Friday. I heard from a friend down at the county office that they’re trying to expedite the permit. Not entirely sure why they applied for it this late in the game, but I figure we can do our part to make it work.”
At the endof Mitch’s shift, he made a pitstop at the Main Street Market. After another swing shift at the firehouse, his refrigerator at his apartment was pitifully low on provisions. They always ate well at the firehouse, big hearty meals with flavor and flair. Though Mitch was rarely assigned to cook, he never minded picking up groceries for the crew from the store. But today’s market run for his own essentials was much smaller. He grabbed a basket by the door and loaded the basics into it: a loaf of bread, some packaged spaghetti, a can of his favorite sauce, a bunch of green bananas. He still had some waffles in the freezer and eggs on the counter, enough for a handful of makeshift meals until his next shift where he would eat like a king.
On his way to the register, he passed the warmers where the rotisserie chickens and side dishes sat under a glowing heat lamp. It was a last-minute decision, but he picked one of the chickens up for himself. And even more impulsively, he decided to grab another for Faith.
He just couldn’tnot. The woman loved the savory meal. Plus, dropping this off at her place gave him an excuse to seeher again. Sure, he would see her on Monday when he did the inspection of the community center, but could he really wait that long? He doubted it.
He was also curious about things with Anthony. The guy didn’t seem like her type, not that Mitch knew Faith’s dating preferences. He was just too rigid, too stuffy. Yes, Faith would probably consider Mitch rigid when it came to his job and the seriousness in which he operated while on the clock, but that was different. Wasn’t it?
“Got some good things in that basket,” a man with a badge bearing the nameStewartsaid as he rang up the items one by one. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Two rotisserie chickens, huh? Pretty hungry, I take it?”
“I am, but one’s for a friend. Or a neighbor, I guess.”
“Those chickens are a favorite around here. Good friend of mine gave me his secret recipe for the rub we use a few years ago. Totally changed the chicken game around here. Lemon pepper but with a pinch of garlic and even a little brown sugar. They’re delicious.”
Mitch didn’t need to ask to know it must have been Faith’s dad that supplied the recipe. He loved the sense of community around here, the way everyone shared everything from their tools and their time to their very own cherished family recipes.
The snow had started to fall by the time Mitch had paid for his things and exited the store. There was something magical about the way the flakes silently floated down, softly landing like nature’s delicate confetti. Despite the cold that made him tug his coat a little tighter and coil his scarf one more loop around his neck, he wasn’t quite ready to retreat for the night.
And the bakery was still open.
Faith’s little A-frame sign sat at the edge of the cleared sidewalk, the chalk lettering reading“Welcome, come on in”tugging him forward like a verbal instruction. He stopped at hisparked truck on the way to place the paper bags on the passenger seat, knowing the items inside would keep just fine until he returned.
But he took both of the rotisserie chickens with him.
This time, the bell didn’t even chime when he let himself inside the bakery. Faith really needed to get that fixed.
Still, she caught sight of him right away, even without the jingling alert. She wasn’t baking, wasn’t reloading the pastry case with treats. Instead, she was hunched over the counter with the world’s largest binder spread open before her.
Her eyes snapped up and something like relief crossed her face. “Is that—?”
“Dinner?” He hoisted both chickens into the air, a container dangling from each hand. “I figured you could use a little sustenance.”
“How’d you know I’d still be here?” She turned and looked at the clock hanging on the wall behind her that read just past six. “I’m usually closed up by now.”
“I saw your sign out on the walk and took a chance.” He slid her chicken toward her on the counter. “Enjoy.”
“You don’t want to stay? We could eat together. Plus, I could really use a break from all this soiree planning. It’s making my head spin.”
