Page 73 of Frosting and Flames

Now it’s his turn to look confused. “What the hell is a pup cup?”

I think Sydney had said the same when Mrs. Montour had first started requesting one. “It’s a small cup filled with whipped cream. She claims it’s better for Dolly than the canned stuff, since we make it fresh.”

He still appears confused. “Why does the dog need whipped cream at all?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, but it makes her happy so we keep doing it.”

He squeezes my hand. “Well, you’re good at making people happy.”

“Do I make you happy?” The question slips out without meaning to. “Sorry, that was weird. You don’t have to answer that.”

He doesn’t seem put off, though, his smile widening. “You do. Getting to know you better over the past month… It’s made me happier than I can remember being in a long time.”

My heart cinches tight in my chest. Just from the few times we’ve hung out? Well, I guess it’s been more than a few times. Even so, it makes me feel guilty for how guarded I was at the beginning, not realizing he felt that way.

Not realizing I felt that way, either.

“You make me happy, too,” I whisper, squeezing his hand in return.

It’s the truth. Even if I was trying to convince myself otherwise.

Our server brings us our meals then, and Nick digs into his pasta, assuring me it’s not nearly as good as my lasagna. That is, until his phone chimes with an incoming text.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling it out of his pocket. “I always have to check in case it’s—” His face drains of color. “Shit.”

I set down my fork and knife, my steak frites forgotten. “What is it?”

“Three-alarm fire.” He throws his napkin down on the table. “Over on Mill Brook Road. Everyone’s being called in.”

The scrape of his chair is loud in the quiet of the restaurant as he gets up. He pulls his wallet out, his actions hurried, and mumbles a curse under his breath after a moment. “I don’t have any cash. And I drove you.”

He turns to flag down the waitress and I tell him, “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. I can get a ride home, too.”

Relief overtakes his face for a split second before a mask of calm slips over it. Only, I can still tell he’s anxious. His jaw is a little too tight, his posture rigid, as if he’s holding himself together so as not to worry me.

“I’m so sorry.” He rounds the table, pressing a swift kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll make it up to you.”

I nod, but he’s already halfway out the door, his broad frame disappearing into the night.

I meant to tell him to be safe, the words stuck in my throat, and I swallow them down past the unexpected lump there.

Staring at our barely eaten dinner, I try to shake off the irrational feeling growing in my chest. He’s not ditching me. He’s doing his job. A job I admire him for. The one who made him who he is today.

And yet, that familiar weight of abandonment settles low in my belly, illogical but insistent.

Taking a sip of water, I glance at Nick’s empty chair, avoiding looking at anyone else in the restaurant. Did they all see that? How he left me? The same way Kyle—

No, this isn’t the same as that. Nowhere near close.

But as I look down at my perfectly cooked steak, my appetite fades. I need to get out of here.

It’s a twenty-minute walk home, but I wore heels in an attempt to be fancy, and there’s no way I can make it that distance wearing them. Better call for a ride.

I don’t want to dissect the date the way Jae will want to, and don’t want to be teased the way Sydney’s sure to do, so I call Hailey. She says she has dinner in the oven but can be there in fifteen minutes, which I gratefully accept.

I flag down our waitress and pay, but can’t tell if her look is one of pity or not as she boxes up our leftovers and hands them to me. Heading outside to avoid any more unwanted sympathy, I cross the street to look inside the flower shop’s window while I wait for my sister. It’s already closed for the day, but the soft glow of the streetlamp nearby casts a golden wash over the display.

Pale pink flowers I don’t know the name of curl up next to cheerful daffodils and tulips in a vase, clusters of tiny white baby’s breath nestled between them. Something about seeingthe flowers like this when the shop is closed, like they’re ready for someone to buy them tomorrow, reminds me of the bakery before we open. I sometimes imagine the pastries lined up in the display case are waiting in quiet anticipation of all the people who will come in throughout the day. Who will be chosen and who will be left in the case at the end of the day?

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