Joelle’s head snapped toward the dry grass edge. “Sunny.”
I turned.
A skinny thread of smoke lifted from beyond the fire mat, not from our raised pit but from the trampled golden grass near a half-buried root, maybe six feet outside the production zone. A tiny orange tongue flickered once, low and mean, where a stray ember must have landed.
The cone left my hand and hit the prep table. “Water.”
Joelle was already moving.
Ed swore.
Caprice shouted, “Nobody step on cables!”
“I need the bucket,” I said, reaching for the nearest handle.
The wind shoved hard across the meadow.
The little flame ran sideways.
It wasn’t big. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even impressive by campfire standards. But it moved fast enough to turn my skin cold under the heat.
Joelle thrust the bucket at me. I grabbed it with both hands, took one wobbling step in my stupid perfect shoes, and nearly lost my ankle to a clump of grass.
“I’ve got it,” I said.
“You don’t have footwear,” Joelle said.
“Not the time.”
“Very much the time.”
I kicked one wedge free, then the other, my bare feet hitting hot dirt and dry grass. A rock jabbed my arch. I ignored it and lunged forward with the bucket.
A roar came from the ridge.
Then a hard blast of water slammed into the grass fire.
And into me.
The bucket flew out of my hands. Water hit my side, my back, my hair, my apron, the prep table, the reflector, and the berry tray. I shrieked, slipped in mud that hadn’t existed three seconds ago, and grabbed the edge of the table to keep from going down.
Another blast swept across the raised pit.
My neat little flame died with a wet cough.
So did twelve shortcake cones, four jars of lemon mascarpone, two trays of roasted strawberries, one basil bunch, and my will to be a reasonable woman.
“Hey!” I shouted through the spray. “Hey! Stop!”
The water cut off.
For one ringing second, no one moved.
Cream dripped from the prep table. Smoke curled weakly from the drenched grass. Ed stood soaked behind his camera, his headset crooked. Caprice’s sunglasses had vanished. Joelle held a towel in one hand and an extinguisher in the other.
And at the edge of my ruined set stood a man with a fire hose in his hands.
A very large man.
