Page 23 of Ablaze

He gives me another exasperated huff, but finally heads out.

* * *

I bend to give Goldie a treat, hugging her around her neck. She’s wearing one of the reindeer antlers I had out in a basket on the bar. “Who’s my favorite German shepherd?”

She chomps on the cookie enthusiastically with her tail wagging a mile a minute.

Her owner, Terrance, holds the coffee I just made him in one hand while he keeps his other firmly around Goldie’s leash. He’s a regular at the bakery and always stops by right before I’m closing up since that’s the time he takes her for a walk. “I swear, she is addicted to these dog treats. We can’t even be in the vicinity of this café; otherwise, she’ll pull me toward it until I relent.”

I chuckle, giving Goldie another scratch behind her ears. “Well, you both are welcome here any time, you know that.”

Once the last of the customers have left, Betty, Max, and I clean up the kitchen and backyard. We pull the shades down over the windows and turn off the Open sign.

It’s the day before Christmas Eve, and I’ve decided to close the bakery until the day after Christmas.

After Max leaves, Betty pulls her coat over her arms, eyeing the steadily falling snow through the window. “I hope you have a wonderful Christmas, Mala. I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”

She’s a short and stout woman of about seventy, and one of the finest bakers I’ve met. In fact, I’ve learned quite a few tips and tricks from her. But even more than that, she’s honest, reliable, and incredibly punctual. All the things Meg–the first assistant I hired and fired all within a few months–was not.

“Have a very merry Christmas, Betty. Stay warm and drive safely. I’ll see you on Monday.”

After Betty leaves, I’m just re-checking the locks on the back door and lowering the heat on the thermostat when the bell above the door chimes. A familiar set of broad shoulders and shoulder-length blond hair fills the entryway. He’s wearing a long dark coat and there’s a dusting of snow on his shoulders and black cap. But, as always, he looks ridiculously handsome, like he deserves to be on a magazine cover or a poster.

“Hi!” I smile, giving him a quizzical look. “I thought you were heading over to your dad’s and Karine’s house tonight?”

Dean gives me a look I can’t quite decipher. “And I thought you told me you were heading to the lake house with Betty.”

Dammit. He must have run into her outside. I never told Betty about me using her as my alibi, so she probably gave away the fact that I wasn’t joining her for Christmas. Heat floats up to my cheeks, but I know he can’t see it, given the distance between us. “Oh, well, I had a bit of the sniffles, so I thought I’d just stay home in case it got worse. I wouldn’t want to get anyone else sick.”

With his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, he closes the distance between us. “You lying to me, sprinkles?”

I shake my head, lying, of course. Then, I cough for effect. “Of course not.”

He pulls out his phone, turning on the flashlight. “Open your mouth.”

“Wha–what? No!”

He stalks closer, holding my gaze while I take a few steps backward, pressing up against the wall behind me. “Open your mouth. I want to see if your tonsils are inflamed.”

I pull up my sweatshirt, feeling my pulse accelerate. “No. I might get you sick.” I cough again.

“I’ll take my chances.”

I grunt. “What are you, a doctor now?”

One of Dean’s arms cages me in while he holds the phone up, tilting the flashlight toward my mouth. His eyes trail down my neck to the place where he now knows my scar starts.

“No, but I am a paramedic. I’d know if you were lying.” He cages me in with his other arm when I swat at him, trying to get away. “What are you so afraid of? If you’re sick, I’ll leave you alone.”

I give him an exasperated look. “Okay, fine. I’m not sick. Can you go away now?”

He holds my eyes. “I get why you lied to Rohan–you wanted him to spend Christmas with his girl. But why lie to me?”

“I–I just . . . I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me or anything. I’m perfectly capable of having a wonderful and very merry Christmas on my own.” No, I’m not. My plan was to pop a bag of popcorn, paint my nails, and watch Bambi or something.

“Sorry for you?” Dean scoffs. “Mala, the last time I felt sorry for you was when I beat you seven times in a row at darts. I mean, you truly suck. Like,” he blows out a breath, feigning disappointment, “you’re terrible.”

I punch him in the abs, but he doesn’t flinch. “You’re a jackass. I wasn’t warmed up that day. And as you can see, unlike you guys at the fire station, I don’t have a dartboard at the bakery where I can just practice whenever I want.”

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