Page 16 of Cookies & Kisses

I have no idea what I’m going to do now. All I know is that my future cannot depend on Mason Bond and his ridiculous tests.

Mason

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

I look up at the monitor and see Christine and her daughter, Kirsten, waiting in the front of the bakery. Frustrated, I slam down my measuring cup and rush to greet them. “Yes, I’m here.”

“What happened to Madeleine?” Kirsten asks with wide eyes.

Good question, kid.“She doesn’t work here anymore,” I say.

“Oh.” Kirsten looks sadly at the sprinkle cookies.

Christine pats her daughter’s head. “That’s all right. I’m sure we’ll see her around. And the cookies still taste the same.”

“It’snotthe same!“ Kirsten wails. “I don’t want a cookie now!”

Her mom looks back at me and laughs nervously. “Kirsten loves Madeleine. All that time she spent baking with the foster kids must have given her a special touch.”

I swallow hard. “Foster kids?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Christine tilts her head to the side. “When she was in New York, she would spend her free time running baking classes for foster children. She said it was one of the highlights of her time there.”

An ache fills my chest. Another piece of Madeleine’s backstory that fills me with guilt. No wonder she was so moved by the safety of our town, and the way the children were running around freely at the Annual Fountain Festival.

I don’t say anything, but Christine fills the silence. “I’m sure Kirsten will want a cookie later. We’ll take six sprinkle cookies.”

I bag them up for her, avoiding my feelings of guilt and Kirsten’s death glare. They pay for the cookies and wave good-bye, and the smell of burnt cookies reaches my nose.

“No!” I exclaim and rush back to the kitchen. Yanking open the oven door, billows of smoke surround me and make me cough. I wave an oven mitt around, trying to clear the air, when the smoke alarm goes off.

“You havegotto be kidding me.“ Thankfully, I have an advanced system that allows me to override the alarm with an app on my phone.

Which I left in the front of the bakery.

I jog to the front and find I’m not alone.

“Hello, Mason,” my mom says calmly over the loud alarm. “Everything going smoothly?”

I grunt and open the app to shut off the alarm. Done. The silence is a blessed relief, but the smell of burnt cookies still permeates the air.

“I see you’re having some trouble now that Madeleine is gone.”

I huff and head back to the kitchen, knowing she’ll follow me there. I start scraping the burnt cookies off the tray and throwing them in the trash.

Mom puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I set down the tray with a sigh.

“It’s been awful,” I admit.

She pulls me into a hug, and even though I tower over her now, it’s a welcome gesture.

Then she smacks the back of my head.

“Hey!” I exclaim, rubbing the sore spot.

“You deserve it,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “I can’t believe you let her go. She was the best thing for the bakery.” She puts her finger down and lowers her voice. “And for you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” My head is still sore, but I turn back to my work of throwing away the ruined cookies.

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