Page 90 of The Fire We Crave

27

QUINN

“We’ve got customers waiting outside,” Kinsey says the following morning, clapping her hands as she comes back to the kitchen, where I’m busy icing cupcakes on the counter where Smoke spanked my ass.

It’s been well and truly cleaned since then, with bleach, as part of the post-fire kitchen cleanup. But every time I lean against it, I remember what it felt like when Smoke’s palm made contact with the bare cheeks of my butt.

I smile at Kinsey, and I’m sure she thinks it’s about the fact we have customers, when she jumps up and down.

“They’re back,” she says.

“We were only closed for four days,” I say. I mean, I share Kinsey’s excitement that we have customers, but it wasn’t as if we were closed for six months like Whiskey Fever might be.

“Thanks to Smoke’s heroics. Do you think he got his name because he’s a firefighter?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never asked.”

“Well, you should, but not before you go open the door.”

I point the nozzle of my icing bag in Kinsey’s direction. “I think you’re more than capable of turning the key.”

She smiles. “Yes, but I think you’ll want to greet your first guest.”

I place the piping bag down on the counter and wipe my hands on my apron. A part of me is half expecting it to be Smoke, but I’m not disappointed when I see Sam, Dawn, Raven, and Ember. Of course, book club girls turn up for one another.

“We have champagne,” Ember says, holding up two bottles as I open the door.

“And plastic glasses,” Sam adds.

“We thought we should celebrate your reopening,” Raven says.

“You guys are as bad as Kinsey. We were literally closed for less than a week.”

Dawn looks adoringly at the cake cases. “Yes, but a day without one of your apple turnovers is like a day without air.”

We all burst out laughing at that. “Come in,” I say.

I suppose this is the joy of a small town. My regulars return, excited to see me. Mrs. Mayberry tells me how worried she was for me. Josh and Stephen, who live above the quirky arts and crafts store, tell me how they tried to get a cup of coffee farther up Main Street that was so ghastly, Stephen poured his down a storm drain. Catfish’s sister, who is the principal at the local school, tells me how grateful she is that I’m open today so she can grab a dozen cookies as a thank you for some staff who were staying late that evening.

There’s a steady heartbeat of customers that underscores the rhythm of a small town. I know them; they know me. Some of them knew my mom. Some I went to school with.

Bizarrely, even Silas messages me. Turns out, he stayed in touch with an old friend who told him there was a fire.

When I go into the back to pull more pain au chocolates out of the oven, I take a second to read it again.

Silas:Heard about the fire. Glad you’re safe. But maybe it’s time you let the thing burn. You’re free to go wherever you want, Quinn. So make a life you want.

Make a life I want.

I wouldn’t even know where to?—

Yes, I would.

It would start with me, Smoke, and Bones.

The day passes in a whirlwind. The local press wants to run a small story about the bakery, which is great because it will appear on the website. I don’t care if nosey people come, wanting to take a peek at the drama in town, as long as they pick up a baguette and some cakes for dinner.

Business is good.

---