Page 7 of Frosting and Flames

My mouth opens, then shuts. Jamal could… No, he’d be terrible at it. Maybe Mark… No, he’d be even worse. Miguel or Daniel… Shit.

“You’re it, kid,” Chief says. “I’ve run through the possibilities myself and you’re our best bet.”

I blink stupidly at him. If I’m our best bet, what does that say for the future of our station?

“But we need money. If I screw this up—”

“You won’t. You’re organized, you pay attention to details, you have good ideas. You can do it.”

I shake my head, sinking into my seat at his kind words. I thought I’d be getting a dressing down coming in here, not all this praise. I’m not sure which I’d like better.

“Henry is extroverted,” I say, making a last-ditch effort. “He schmoozes and gets people to give us money. They like him.”

Some people can’t forget what I did when I was fifteen years old. They’ll never respond to me the same way.

“You could—”

“Nope.” His voice is kind, but firm. “I have too much else to do. Listen, you’ll learn as you go. And I’ll be here if you have questions. I’m not throwing you straight in the deep end.”

That’s exactly what he’s doing. But he’s right that no one else at the station is a good fit, either.

This is going to be a fucking shit show.

“And I have your first task for you.” His smirk is more obvious now.

So he’s been planning this. It isn’t a punishment for what happened earlier. He just knows I feel guilty about it, so I won’t cause a fuss.

“What is it?” I ask, heavy with weariness.

“Go pick up an order at Aurora Bakery tomorrow.”

What? That’s it?

Then again, he knows I avoid the bakery like the plague.

“Okay… What for?” Is this a personal errand or something?

“The elementary school is coming in for their annual station tour. The bakery donates five hundred cookies for it every year.”

Oh, the station tour. I’m not scheduled to work tomorrow, so it slipped my mind.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

I can see Rachel two days in a row when I haven’t talked to her in years.

No problem.

The bellabove the door tinkles merrily as I enter the bakery, a detail I missed yesterday in my mad rush. It’s cozy in here, with rustic wooden shelves bracketing either side of a huge glass display case filled with treats. My mouth waters eyeing the flaky croissants and frosted fudge brownies.

I’d never been in here before yesterday. Even before the fire twelve years ago, my family wasn’t the type to buy luxuries like freshly baked sweets. And afterward, I wouldn’t have dared to come in and piss off the Blackwells with my presence.

“Nick.”

The voice isn’t quite—

I curb my knee-jerk disappointment when I make eye contact with Hailey behind the counter. She has the same dark hair asRachel, although brown eyes instead of hazel, and she’s not quite as tall. All three sisters look a lot alike, but neither Hailey nor Sydney are as pretty as Rachel.

Not that I’m biased.

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