Page 8 of Frosting and Flames

Actually, it’s a good thing Rachel’s not out here. Less of a chance I’ll make a complete idiot of myself.

“Did you need to follow up about the fire?” She points toward the double doors that lead to the kitchen area. “Rachel already made some calls about the oven.”

“No. I’m here to pick up the order for the fire station.”

She gives me a blank look. “What order?”

“It’s for five hundred cookies.”

Her eyes widen in alarm before she taps at the terminal in front of her. “Um, just a second. I don’t remember seeing an order for that, but let me double check.”

Chief said today, right? He wouldn’t make it up as part of my punishment, would he?

The doors to the back open, and Rachel walks through, carrying a large tray of cinnamon rolls slathered with cream cheese frosting and fruit danishes drizzled with icing sugar. Oh man, those look good.

Rachel stops in mid-stride when she notices me, the tray wavering in her hands.

I move automatically to help her stabilize it, but I’m nowhere near close enough. Thankfully, Hailey grabs the edge before everything spills to the floor.

“Sorry.” Rachel shakes her head, staring down at the pastries. “What are you doing here?”

Though she isn’t looking at me, it’s obvious who she’s talking to. “I’m picking up an order for the fire station.”

“Do you remember seeing an order for five hundred cookies?” Hailey whispers to her sister.

Rachel blinks rapidly at her. “Five hundred?” She turns to me. “For what?”

I startle, getting caught up for a moment in her eyes, flecked with hints of green and gold. “The elementary school station tour today. Chief said your parents donate them every year.”

Her face falls, lips pursing. “Ah. My parents.”

A similar dawning of comprehension appears on Hailey’s face. “Let me call them.”

“No, I’ll—”

Rachel stops mid-sentence when Hailey disappears in the back.

“Sorry about this,” she says. “We’re not normally this disorganized.”

“It’s fine.” I stick my hands in my pockets, unsure what to do with them. “Do you need help with…”

“Oh.” She looks down at the tray still in her hands. “Right. Let me put these away.”

Sliding open the back of the glass display case, she fills two empty rows with the pastries.

“Could I have one of those?” I motion to the last danish on her tray. “That one there?”

She looks at the danish, then at me. “I have to charge you.”

“Yeah, of course. That’s what I meant. I didn’t expect you to just give it to me.”

I force myself to stop rambling. God, could this be any more awkward?

She rings me up and hands me the golden-brown pastry in a paper sleeve, still warm to the touch. It glistens with a light sheen of butter and sugar, tiny flakes breaking away to hint at the layers within.

She goes back to fiddling with the pastry case and I take that as my cue that she doesn’t want to talk anymore. Chief sure called it when he made this part of my punishment.

I take a huge bite of the danish for something to do, and it practically melts in my mouth, crumbling with the perfect balance of crispness and sweetness, followed by a burst of tangy raspberry. Oh, fuck, that’s good.

---