Page 12 of Frosting and Flames

He’s immediately more careful, pouring in only a small amount and waiting for the mixer to blend it before adding more. This close, he smells like cedar and clean soap. I unthinkingly inhale before I catch myself and turn away.

“I’m finished with the eggs,” I announce, as if that wasn’t obvious. “I’ll, um, get started making the cinnamon sugar. You can keep doing exactly that.”

I move to the island in the middle of the kitchen, releasing a breath to calm myself. When the dough is finished at the mixer, I have him detach the mixing bowl and bring it over while I set up a mini-assembly line for us. I scoop the dough and form it into a ball, then hand it to him to roll in the cinnamon sugar mixture and place on the parchment-lined baking sheets.

The work is monotonous, but neither of us speaks. Usually, I put an AirPod in and listen to a podcast or audiobook while keeping an ear out for anything major going on up front, but it’s almost as if I’m afraid to breathe with Nick next to me here like this. Like I can’t let down my guard.

That’s become true for a lot in my life lately, though. After Kyle—

Nick turns to me sharply. “What’s wrong?”

I look up at him, startled at the intensity in his dark eyes. It’s then I realize the sound of distress I made thinking about Kyle.

“Nothing,” I murmur. It’s been five months. I should be over this.

The double doors open and we both turn, finding Sydney in the doorway.

“Help has arrived,” she says, grinning as she grabs an apron from the hook and puts it on.

“It’s your day off,” I say, looking at the clock. It’s only nine and she knows I’m a stickler about us taking our days off. We already work a six-day week now that Mom and Dad aren’t here.

“Who came in yesterday on her day off?”

I open my mouth and shut it. Damn it. I hate it when she’s right. “That’s different,” I still try to argue. “That was an emergency.”

“And so is this. Now where do you need me?”

I sigh, knowing there’s no use in bickering. Sydney has a PhD in stubbornness. “We’re making snickerdoodles. You can start on the second batch of 125. I have the ingredient amounts there and the butter softening on the counter.”

She nods and grabs another bowl for the stand mixer to cream the butter and sugar. “All right, Nick. You’re officially released from conscription.”

“Oh.”

I glance over at him, finding him looking at me.

“I don’t mind staying,” he says in a low voice, so only I can hear him. “If you need me.”

“I…” I have the sudden strange urge to agree. Even though I only took him up on his offer out of necessity. Even though I’vebarely talked to him. Even though my skin is prickling again as he watches me with that dark gaze, waiting for my answer.

I shake my head. “You’ve done enough. You should enjoy the rest of your day off.”

He waits for a beat, then nods, like he’s accepting his fate. As he removes his gloves and apron, he says, “Thanks for letting me help you.”

I’m taken aback for a moment, not only by his words, but the sincerity behind them. He sounded like that yesterday, too. “I should be the one thanking you.”

One of the corners of his mouth lifts in a smile. “I’ll see you around.”

There’s something final about the way he says it, like it’s more than a casual goodbye, and I stare after him as he crosses the room to hang up his apron.

“Thank you again for yesterday,” Sydney says before he leaves.

“Yeah, no problem.”

And then he’s gone.

I finish up the last few cookies, then stick the baking sheets in the oven.

“I thought Hailey was pranking me when she said you let him back here,” Sydney comments, walking over to the cooler to get the eggs.

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