Page 1 of Micah

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AVERY

“Avery,you’re going to be late!”

With some serious struggle, my eyes flutter open. Exhaustion settles into my bones, making even the smallest movement ten times harder than it needs to be.Where am I?A flour-dusted, chilled, stainless-steel surface stretches out in front of me. It fills my eye line, seemingly going on forever.Oh right, I’m at the bakery.

“Honey, you need to get going,” Audrey Walker, the owner ofThe Sweet Tooth, insists. She’s holding out a damp washcloth, and my still sleepy brain starts to register that my pillow is squishy instead of fluffy.

“Why is my face—” I sit up, bread dough peeling stickily from my cheek. I’ve been picking up extra shifts in between my increasingly packed schedule of photography shoots. A few weeks ago it seemed harmless enough. Audrey needed help preparing for the upcoming festival and I’m saving up to open my own studio. Win – win. But falling asleep in bread dough might actually be a new low for me. I accept the washcloth, scrubbing at the dough on my cheek while simultaneously brushing the flour off my sleeve. “I’m sorry I fell asleep?—”

“I got this,” she says, urgency in her tone. “You better run. They’re waiting for you at the fire hall.”

“Shit!” I jump up, panic shredding my exhaustion as I notice the clock. I’m fifteen minutes late for the Daisy Hills Volunteer Firefighter calendar photoshoot.

I’m told it’s quite the honor to be the photographer selected for the yearly fundraiser. Making a good impression is almost as important as capturing the timeless images that’ll hang on the walls of Daisy Hills citizens for months to come. This one opportunity has the potential to make my dreams of being a full-time photographer come true.

I swipe my purse off its hook, ignoring the series of chimes coming from inside it, and toss the washcloth towards the counter. No time to check my phone right now. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

“Go!”

Foot pressed hard against the gas pedal, I speed the three blocks to the fire hall, gambling that Audrey’s husband isn’t patrolling downtown right now.

I’m forced to park around the corner, as all the other spots are either occupied or designated for emergency vehicles only. Grabbing my camera bag, I cross my fingers and send up a silent prayer. If I had my wits about me last night, after three hours of edits that ended around midnight, I packed everything I’d need today.

Pausing on the sidewalk, I redo my hair scrunchy so I don’t look like I just rolled out of bed, and pop a breath mint. I should probably back off on the extra bakery shifts, if only for a day or two to catch up on sleep.

The front door to the fire hall is locked. I momentarily panic until I hear an excited yip from a pup. Oh yeah. Haley told me on the phone yesterday.They’re out back.

As if the volunteer firefighters weren’t hot enough on their own merit, they’ve teamed up with the local animal shelter. “The proceeds from this fundraiser will benefitbothorganizations,” I remind myself, trying desperately to focus on the facts. Because my overactive imagination has the potential to get me in some serious hot water if I’m not careful. At least when it comes to one particular volunteer firefighter: Micah Ericson.

I race around the side of the tall brick structure and nearly collide with an entirely different type of brick wall. One of the tall, dark, and handsome variety.

“Micah,” I say, his name slipping out breathlessly. I pull my palm back before it can make contact with his bare chest. He’s wearing his coveralls, one side open, and no shirt underneath. I’ve seen him with his shirt off dozens of times. It’s not a big deal.

So why is it suddenly so hard, after years of indifference, to keep my composure?

“Hey, there you are,” he says, a lopsided grin making my stomach do funny flip-flops. A couple of weeks ago, Micah Ericson was safely in the friend zone. A place I’ve firmly kept him since we met in college. But then our third roommate had to go and move out with his new wife. Leaving Micah and me completely alone in our rented house until we can find a new roommate. I thought it would be no big deal. I thought I could do it.

Icando it.

Ihaveto do it.

“I’m sorry I’m late?—”

“Relax. You’re right on time.”

“Oh good.” I feel the sigh of relief throughout my entire body. Though Micah will never admit how much trouble it was, I know he pulled more than a few strings to get me this gig. The last thing I want to do is screw it up. “Thanks again for?—”

“What’s on your cheek?” he asks, eyebrow raised. Why does that simple gesture make him look sexier than he already is?

I press my fingers to my right cheek, searching for the offending substance I thought I’d scrubbed clean.

“The other one.” He reaches a thumb to my opposite cheek and gently brushes my skin. My cheek buzzes with electricity at his touch. “Is that flour?”

“Oh, yeah.” I let out a soft laugh that erodes any initial embarrassment. In all the years I’ve known Micah, it’s always been this way between us. I just hope my little inconvenient crush doesn’t ruin the simple things. “I, uh, fell asleep on a loaf of bread dough.”

“You’re working too much,” he says, concern in both his tone and cobalt eyes.

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