Page 21 of Frosting and Flames

I look around and two other guys are still setting up folding chairs at the tables and Jae is just now bringing out syrup to put at a station next to us.

Are all their fundraisers this rushed?

Handing Nick a spatula, I say, “You’re in charge of this griddle, okay?”

He nods hesitantly, then tries flipping the first pancake. It hasn’t been cooking long enough, though, so it slides off, straight onto the ground in front of us.

The tops of his cheekbones turn red as he stares down at it.

This morning is going to hell in a handbasket.

At the bakery, I strive for perfection. But here…

The chairs are haphazardly put at the tables, some pushed in, some not. The wind blows a tablecloth clear away. The first of the breakfasters are arriving, a boy screaming at the top of his lungs that he hates pancakes. And there’s batter on my right shoe.

“Nick,” I say gently. “Have you ever made pancakes?”

He takes a deep breath, not looking at me. “I may or may not have no clue what I’m doing.”

I take a deep breath, too.

This isn’t perfection. Not even close. And that’s going to have to be good enough.

“Okay, wait about two minutes until there are bubbles throughout the pancake. Then fit as much of the spatula under it as you can, flip it, and cook for another minute. Don’t press the pancake down with the spatula because it’ll make them more dense. And don’t over mix the batter because it’ll make the pancakes tougher.”

He nods, processing everything I’ve just told him.

The first family comes through the line and I turn on my customer service persona, smiling and telling them it’ll be another minute until their pancakes are ready.

The boy, maybe three or four years old, stares at me grumpily from his mother’s arms. “I don’t like pancakes,” he announces to me.

Lovely.

“What if we made you a special Mickey Mouse one?” I ask, praying that it works.

He purses his lips, considering it. “No.”

“You love Mickey Mouse,” his mom tells him, with an air of desperation. “Oh, look. It’s Mister Nick. He’s the onewho brought the fire engine to story time the other week, remember?”

The child’s face transforms into one of delight as he turns in his mother’s arms and spots Nick.

“I bet Mister Nick loves Mickey Mouse pancakes, right?”

“They’re my favorite,” Nick responds, not a trace of a lie in his voice. “Rachel here makes the best Mickey Mouse pancakes in the world.”

The boy nods eagerly. “I’ll have one.”

Thank God.

I flip over the pancakes on my griddle and make room at the bottom to make a special one, carefully pouring the batter and adding two smaller circles at the top to make ears. “It’ll take a couple of minutes.”

“No problem. We’ll wait to the side here.”

I plate up the pancakes that are ready and mix a new batch of batter while the boy talks excitedly to Nick about fire engines. Nick listens to him patiently and answers his questions, even when they’re all variations of the same thing.

When it’s ready, I hand Nick the special pancake for him to give to the kid, sensing it’ll go over better that way. Nick offers him a high five and the boy puts his whole body into it, then waves as his mother leads him away to the tables.

“Thank Goodness for Mister Nick,” I murmur.

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