Page 61 of Hearts of Fairlake

"So...that's a yes, you're going to sit there and gloat while little ol’ me is helpless and bound," he said in a soft, wispy voice that didn't sound a thing like him.

It was also incredibly suspicious, and I raised a wry brow. “You're free of your cuffs, aren't you?"

He pulled his hands out from under him, wiggling them to show that both cuffs had been removed. “I'm free of my cuffs."

"Should I even dare to ask how you managed that?" I asked with a sigh.

"Now, now, you know a magician never tells his secrets," Ethan said with a laugh, squeezing my legs. "But at least I didn't have to dislocate a thumb this time."

It was dropped so casually, 'this time.' Not that I wassurprised. That was just how Ethan was, generally irreverent and dismissive about serious things, especially about him or his experiences. It was all too easy for people who didn't know him to take everything he threw at them at face value. He was quite good at giving off the feeling that nothing and no one could bother him, and I didn't blame people for believing it was a facade.

Which was precisely what it was, a facade. I'd been honored by the chance to peek behind the laughing mask that he slipped on as easily as a well-worn shirt, and I knew under all that irreverent humor and dismissive attitude was a man who felt deeply and completely. One only had to pick up his work and read the trials and tribulations he went through but never went into detail, focusing instead on the suffering and misery of those he sought to help with his coverage to understand that. He felt deeply and completely and was utterly dismissive of his suffering at times, sometimes to the detriment of his wellbeing.

Thankfully, I already knew about the dislocated thumb story, so I let it pass, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"Yes, yes, very clever," I said, glancing back at my desk and feeling hollowness in my chest that grew into an ache. "Damn it."

I didn't have to look at him to know he was grinning. “I bet you're thinking about being home right now, right?"

"Damn you."

"Hmmm, glass of your better whiskey in hand. A sandwich stacked with all the accouterments you love and Ira's homemade roast beef."

"Fuck, you got some?"

"I did."

No one could make roast beef like Ira, and she refused to give the recipe to anyone. She swore up and down she would take the recipe to her grave because everyone kept annoyingher for it, and they could take it up with God after that because she wouldn't be available. However, I’d known her for years and was one of the few people who hadn't pestered her for it. One day, she'd asked me who I thought she should give the recipe to. The answer was simple, Bennett was the only other person who could claim to love her recipe, not have bothered her about getting it, and considering the work he'd put in over the years to learn how to cook, the one capable of giving it the justice it deserved.

And when the day came that he received it, I wasnevergoing to tell him it had been at my recommendation.

"Well then, shit," I muttered, gathering my things up. "What are we doing here?"

"Does this mean I've finally achieved victory and will have my man with me rather than spend the late hours alone in my cold, cold bed?"

"I'll ignore the dramatics and just say yes."

"Cool...now what did I do with my pants?"

"Ethan."

GRANT

The mixer's rhythmic sound melded with the oven's hum, filling the air with the smell of flour, yeast, and baking bread. The feel of the dough in my hand was soft but growing firmer as I kneaded it. Of course, machines could do it for me, and I owned them, but nothing beat the feel of the dough in my hands as I worked. These were the sights, sounds, and smells I was used to, part of the list of things that calmed me, soothing the ragged edges of my mood.

Not that my mood was foul at the moment, but the anticipation of the festival in only a few hours was enough to make my nerves tighten to the point of discomfort. The mayor had requested I make a personal showing to the few stalls that had been set up for my bakery, and considering how good the people of this town had been to me, it had been impossible to turn the request down. It seemed that Louise's hard work on the social media accounts for the bakery had done their job, and the mayor thought it would be good for my face to be shown.

I had made appearances at other festivals, but those had been more locally focused. This anniversary celebration wasbroadcast from one end of the country to the other. It had been helped along by Louise, who the mayor had personally sought out after hearing she was the one who had been managing the social media accounts to great success. I wasn't exactly sure how he’d found that out, but Louise swore up and down she hadn't told him, and she had never lied to me.

Quite the opposite, really, to the point that even I, who was straightforward and not prone to subtlety, sometimes wished she would dial things back a little or at least consider keeping her opinions to herself. Then again, if she did those things, she wouldn't be Louise. I could only imagine the meeting between Louise and the mayor after he'd sought her help, and I felt pity for the man, who I considered to be a little high-strung, sensitive, and not all that assertive. She had never said, but I was quite sure Louise had run the negotiations, and I hoped she’d managed to come away with benefits and pay for her efforts.

Prodding the dough, I decided it was done and moved to grab what I needed to roll it out. Again, there were machines but for this particular crust, I wanted to make sure it was done by hand. While I wasn't the sort to believe things made by machines weren't good enough, that was impractical. There was something special about something made by hand.

I hummed as I worked, something I blamed on my brother. He had always done it in those rare moments where he was focused on something so intensely he lost track of the world around him. I didn't hear it as much, but according to Luke, Felix was doing it more than he ever did, especially after being trained and given a job at Adam's workshop.

There was something...amusing that at the end of the day, Felix and I had both found a passion and career in creating things, though in his case, it was offset by the fact that he also repaired things. It seemed fitting for him to have learned torepair when so much of his life had been broken by the choices he'd made. There was a symbolism behind it that I appreciated, but it was mostly nice to see my brother finally find a comfortable place in the world rather than being subject to its whimsy.

A thump from the front drew my attention away from the dough, and I grunted when I heard a familiar voice. “Well, good morning!"

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