Page 35 of Frosting and Flames

It’s true that every time we’ve been around each other lately, something has been going on. She’s always had everything in hand, though. Today is the first time I’ve seen her control slip.

I don’t know what to say. That I’m just glad for the chances I’ve been given to see her again. To have a reason to talk to her.

“That’s life,” I finally tell her. “Nothing’s perfect all the time. But if this is your worst… then your best must be pretty amazing.”

She looks back at me, but I can’t read her expression.

I hold up the burn cream. “Can I put this on you?”

“It’s fine,” she says, even as she checks her arm again, the skin redder now.

“Rachel.”

I meant for it to sound like a warning, but it’s more like a plea. Even so, she holds out her arm to me.

“This has antiseptic and pain relief in it,” I tell her, ripping open the small package.

“I know. I stocked the kit.”

I dab the ointment on her arm, something about this feeling… intimate. The softness of her skin. The quiet of the alley. The way our heads are bent close together, watching what I’m doing.

This close, she smells sweet, like the bakery. Sugar and vanilla and—I swear cinnamon, too. Maybe I’m only imagining it because of the snickerdoodles we made, or how she added it tothe pancake batter at the fire house, but I’m starting to associate it with her.

Cinnamon is the kind of spice that wraps its warmth around you, comforting and familiar, but can also transform the simplest of things into something unforgettable.

In the past couple of weeks, Rachel has become that touch of spice in my otherwise predictable world. She’s the extra bit of heat in my chest when she smiles, a slight bite of sweetness that keeps me craving more.

I can guarantee she’s not thinking the same about me, though. All these thoughts… they’re one-sided.

Even so, a life without cinnamon… It’s unthinkable.

CHAPTER NINE

NICK

Ilinger one last second over her arm before letting go, and attempt to get into a different headspace, to even remember what we were talking about.

Right. Her stocking the first aid kit.

“Because you do all the lame stuff around here?” I ask, thinking about what Sydney said.

That earns me a small smile, my chest warming with that ever-present swirl of cinnamon when she’s near. “Yeah.”

“Sounds like they’re all important things, though.”

“This place won’t run on creativity and inspiration.” She shrugs, but there’s something defeated about it. “My mom wishes it would. And Dad goes along with whatever she wants. I’m…” She pauses for a second, looking down at the ground. “What Sydney was saying about the business stuff being lame… I’m afraid she’s going to turn out like them.”

“What do you mean?”

She’s quiet, watching me put a bandage over the burn. “She’s the most talented of us by far. Handles all the intricate design work and comes up with these flavor combinations you wouldn’t think would go together, but they do.”

I’m silent, sensing she wants to say more.

“She doesn’t understand what it takes to run a business, though,” she continues after a moment. “And doesn’t want to learn. It all falls on me.”

“What about Hailey?”

“She helps out, but she’s still in college part-time, so I know she’s busy.”

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