Page 25 of Half Baked

“Vanilla.” Poppy’s tone suggests that I should have known that one. But she answered, at least.

When she pours in the flour, it looks like she added too much. The mixture begins to turn crumbly instead of smooth. I don’t dare voice that concern, though. Instead, I follow her instructions to the letter, working our way through the lemon filling and meringue topping.

And it’s a good thing I don’t say anything, because the final product looks amazing. Now is as good a time as any to come clean about my love for her pastries—because I really want to try this one.

“I need to tell you something,” I say, lifting my focus from the mini pies on the counter. To my horror, I find her sitting slumped down in a dining chair.

It takes only two quick strides to cross the room, and I drop to my knee before her. “Pop, hey. Are you okay?” I ask, lifting her wrist to check her pulse. It’s slow, causing my own to spike.

“Poppy, I need you to answer me now. Tell me how much you hate my hair or something, please.”

I’m worried, bordering on panicked. Which doesn’t make any sense, considering my career as a first responder. But something about seeing her struggling to blink at me, her normally sparkling eyes looking dull and distant—it hits me right at my core.

Scooping her up in my arms, I carry her across to the living room and lay her on the couch. What would have happened if she was here alone? Has this happened before? My heart races and my jaw tenses as I look her over more closely.

“I’m fine,” a small voice squeaks at me. Way too small to be hers. “I just got dizzy, but I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. But I’m glad you’re alert again. Do not try to sit up, I’ll be right back.”

“So bossy,” she slurs. But it’s an improvement, she’s alert enough to have snark.

I hurry back to the kitchen, looking for anything that she may have by way of electrolytes, specifically sodium. Digging through her pantry, I find pretzels. That will work. Then I turn to her fridge, gawking for a moment about the fact that everything inside seems to be sugar based. Reaching for a carton of juice, I shake my head and return to the living room.

“I need you to try getting these things down,” I demand, kneeling on the floor beside her.

“This is not a big deal; I just haven’t been feeling well today. Woke up with a fever, but I’m fine. Or I will be with rest. I didn’t take enough breaks when I should have.”

“Agreed, you need breaks. How has the fever been today? Have you checked it lately? Take anything for it?” I fire off questions as I tilt the juice towards her lips.

She doesn’t answer any of them. But she doesn’t push me away either. I was prepared for her to be a more difficult patient. But in no time, she gets the juice, pretzels, and some water down.

“I’m tired,” she murmurs, sinking back into the couch cushions, pushing the bag of pretzels against my chest. “And I don’t really feel hot anymore, kinda… chilly.”

I grab a throw blanket from the basket near the fireplace and drape it over her. I watch her eyes flutter closed as I check her pulse once more. It feels okay enough to let her rest.

“Okay, get some sleep, Poppy Seed,” I whisper, running a hand across her hair.

“Baywatch?” Her tired voice sounds confused, and it’s muffled against the little pillow between her face and the arm of the sofa.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You’ll stay?” She sounds hopeful. My heart stutters in my chest.

“You’re not getting rid of me,” I promise, my voice scratchy.

She’s quiet for a moment, her breathing steady. I wait a minute longer to be sure she fell asleep, and then I stand, heading for the armchair across the room.

I’m a few steps away when a small noise escapes her. I turn back around, expecting to find her watching me, but her eyes are still closed.

“Did you say something?” I ask softly, crossing back over to kneel beside her once again.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the building,” she mumbles. “Sorry about whatever thing it was that didn’t work out.”

I can feel the smile erupt across my face. Cradling her chin, I absently run my thumb along her cheekbone. She doesn’t pull from my embrace. Instead, she presses her face into my palm.

Emboldened by her reaction, I lean closer and whisper in her ear. “Pretty girl, nothing was wrong with it. I wanted Fitzy to give the building to you.”

Chapter 12

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