Page 9 of Frosted Fakes

Elliott lived here. Really lived here, not just existed. And Julia was about to upend all of it because her mother had decided Julia needed to "prove herself" by running a bakery she had no idea how to operate.

The shower stopped. Julia heard movement, then silence. She was still standing in exactly the same spot when Elliott emerged, damp-haired and wearing clean clothes, looking marginally less murderous.

"Right," Elliott said. "Let's talk."

"Okay." Julia sat down on the edge of the sofa, then stood up again, not sure if she was allowed to sit on someone else's furniture. "I really am sorry. About the tart, and about… all of this. I had no idea anyone was living here."

"Your mother bought this place." Elliott's voice was flat. "She didn't bother to check if it was occupied?"

"My mother doesn't really…" Julia searched for the right words. "Consider other people's circumstances. Very often. Or at all."

Elliott snorted. It wasn't quite a laugh, but it was something. "Rich people."

"She's…" Julia started to defend Gabby automatically, then stopped. Why was she defending her mother to a stranger? Her mother who had fired her, uprooted her entire life, and apparently bought her a building with a sitting tenant. "Yeah," she said instead. "Rich people."

Another silence stretched between them. Julia's brain was racing, trying to figure out a solution that didn't involve either throwing Elliott out on the street or calling her mother to handle it. Neither option sat well with her.

"Where would you go?" she asked finally. "If you had to leave. Do you have somewhere?"

Elliott's jaw tightened. "That's not your concern."

"It kind of is, actually." Julia's voice came out gentler than she intended. "I mean, if I'm the reason you'd be homeless, that seems like something I should worry about."

"I wouldn't be homeless." But Elliott didn't sound entirely convinced. "I have friends. I could stay with someone. I'd figure it out."

"What about deposits? First month's rent?" Julia knew she was pushing, but she couldn't seem to stop. "Is that something you could manage right now?"

Elliott's expression went cold. "Are you asking if I'm poor?"

"No! I'm asking if you need time. To find somewhere." Julia ran a hand through her hair. "Look, I don't want to kick anyone out. I didn't even want to be here in the first place. This whole bakery thing was my mother's idea, and I'm terrible at baking, and honestly I'll probably destroy the business within a month and then none of this will matter anyway."

She hadn't meant to say all of that. It had just come tumbling out, the way things always did when she was nervous.

Elliott stared at her. "You're terrible at baking?"

"Catastrophically. I once set fire to an ice sculpture." Julia wasn't sure why she was admitting this. "At a charity gala. There was an insurance investigation."

"How do you set fire to ice?"

"I don’t know." Julia shrugged. "There was flambé involved. And possibly some brandy. It's all a bit of a blur."

Elliott's mouth twitched. Just slightly. Julia chose to interpret that as progress.

"So," Julia said, "here's what I'm thinking. You stay. At least for now, while we figure things out. I'll take the couch."

"You'll take the couch?" Elliott repeated. "In your own flat?"

"In your flat, apparently." Julia shrugged. "You've been living here. You have a routine. I'm the intruder. It only seems fair." It did seem fair. Unfortunately fair, but fair nevertheless.

"That's…" Elliott seemed to be struggling with something. "Ridiculous."

"Maybe. But I'm not going to kick you out of your bed." Julia sat down on the sofa, properly this time, claiming it as her territory. "We'll avoid each other. You do your thing, I'll do mine. How hard can it be? I’ll probably have burned the place down by the end of the month."

Elliott looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable in her dark eyes. "You're very strange," she said finally. "And that’s not exactly comforting to hear."

"Sorry." Julia pulled out her phone, desperate for something to do with her hands. "So we have a deal? Temporary roommates?"

"I suppose," Elliott said. She was still watching Julia with that sharp, assessing gaze. "And I have rules. No touching my equipment. No talking to me before I've had coffee. And absolutely no destroying any more of my baking."