Page 47 of Fire and Icing

“Syd!” I scold. “I thought you were in the kitchen.”

“I am in the kitchen. See?” She pops the door more fully open and waves her hand in a line above the threshold.

“Want to tell me about it over a donut and a cup of coffee?” Dustin asks me.

“She does,” Syd says. “That’s the best idea ever.”

“Syd!” I warn.

“Okay. Okay. I’m shutting the door. Have a nice chat.”

I shake my head and return my focus to Dustin, who is looking very amused.

“Are you serious?” I ask him.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? We’re friends. Friends tell one another about their troubles. I want a donut and coffee. Sounds like a win-win to me.”

“Um. Okay.”

I don’t even ask him what flavor he wants. The case next to the one where I’m standing only has two blueberry-lemon left.

“One or two?”

“Depends. Are you having one?”

“Uh … sure. Yes. I’ll have one.”

Why not? I rarely eat my own baked goods even though everyone in town raves about them, and if there ever were a day for a donut, this is it.

I place each donut on its own dessert plate, pour two cups of coffee and bring everything to the table where Dustin is holding out a chair for me. No one’s watching—unless Syd is still spying from the other side of the kitchen door. But Dustin doesn’t haveto fake for her. She’s well aware of what we’re doing. He has no reason to act boyfriend-y. Still, he’s standing by my chair as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to pull it out for me and get me settled before he takes a seat across from me. Maybe I should stop him. But I don’t.

I take my seat and then I make the mistake of looking up into Dustin’s eyes. He stares down at me and doesn’t move away.

I hold one of the plates up toward him, he glances at it, and takes it from me.

“Maybe I should shake things up every so often,” he says, taking his place across from me.

“Like what?” I ask, sinking my teeth into the soft cake of my own donut.

“Maple bacon, chocolate cream, brown butter sugar … something other than blueberry-lemon.”

“Are you sick of it?”

“Not even close.”

“Then why mess with perfection?”

I don’t mean to sound arrogant.

Dustin chuckles. “You’re right. Why mess with perfection?”

He takes a big bite, chews it, even closes his eyes for a moment to savor the taste. I watch him, unable to tear my eyes away. There’s something about watching someone enjoy a treat you baked. It’s the best thank you in the world.

“So, what tanked your morning?” he asks casually.

I almost forgot how difficult the past six and a half hours had been.

“First, one of our ovens has been on the fritz. It decided not to work at all this morning. Then we had a massive order—one we normally would have fit in with ease, but with a school tour and a bulk order and only two ovens, we were slammed. And, to put the cherry on that epic sundae, Vanessa showed up making waves.”

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