Page 38 of Frosting and Flames

I give an approximation of a smile and leave, walking back to the station to get my truck and drive home.

When I enter my house, Tanner is playing some kind of farming simulator game on the living room TV. I have no ideawhat he sees in those games, but he’s been obsessed with them for as long as I’ve known him.

“What’re you doing up?” I ask him, setting my keys on the kitchen counter. He usually sleeps in on the weekends.

His gaze doesn’t move from the TV. “It’s nearly ten.”

Oh, duh. “Right. I’m not thinking straight.”

“I thought you were in your room this whole time. You just got off shift? There an emergency or something?”

I scrub a hand down my face, the past couple of hours of manual labor catching up with me. “No, I was at the bakery.”

He pauses his game and tosses the controller down, whipping around to face me. Ah, shit.

“With Rachel?” he asks in a sing-song way.

I grab a receipt off the counter and crumple it up to throw at him. “Fuck off,” I say good-naturedly.

He grins as he dodges the paper. “I can’t believe you’ve revived this high school crush back from the grave.”

He doesn’t need to know it never really went away. Only laid… dormant for a while.

“And I can’t believe you’re still playing farming games.”

“Hey, FS25—you know, you wouldn’t even get it. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“And I don’t to you.”

“Hmm.” He eyes me cautiously. “Touché.”

He turns and picks up his controller again. “Mom’s hosting a brunch tomorrow at her house.”

I keep my sigh to myself.

“She invited you.”

Of course she did. “What’d you say?”

He shrugs. “That I’d extend the offer.”

Tanner’s mom does this every Mother’s Day. As if I’m some sad orphan who needs comfort on this one day a year.

I mean, technically, I guess I am an orphan. But I’m an adult, so it doesn’t really count anymore. Besides, it’s easier to not think about that stuff.

I shake my head, chastising myself. She’s a nice lady. I shouldn’t be mad that she thinks enough of me to want to include me in a family celebration.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I tell him, and he doesn’t seem surprised. I decline every year. “I’m going to grab some shut eye.”

Leaving him, I enter the sanctuary of my room and change into comfortable clothes. But even after turning on the fan and crawling under the comforter, sleep doesn’t come as quickly as it usually does. My eyes feel heavy and gritty as the need for rest weighs down on me, but my mind won’t shut off. My limbs are restless, wound up, wanting todosomething. This waiting, this hope unfurling in my chest when it comes to Rachel… It tugs at me even as I recognize this is a long game I’m playing.

She’s gun-shy. I can’t rush it. This… whatever this is. What I wish it could be.

But even in my wildest dreams, what are the chances of it ever happening?

CHAPTER TEN

RACHEL

---