Page 8 of Fire and Icing

My thoughts circle around and around until I park my car in the lot behind the shop. I’m far more restless and irritable than usual after enduring the fire. I’m sure that’s why I can’t shake the feeling that I want to march down to the fire station and tell that guy, Dustin, to pack up his surfboard and fly home. Normally, I’m the one baking a welcome to Waterford treat and bringing it by to newcomers.

I sigh again, picturing my kitchen.

Greyson assured me Dustin’s harmless. He seemed amused by the whole scene of that big oaf carrying me out my own front door. I’ve known Greyson my whole life. He knew better than to side with the rookie. But he did stand up for him for a minute.He thought you were in danger. You weren’t moving on your own volition, Emberleigh. He took matters into his own hands to protect you. Did he overreact? Yes. Are you safe? Yes. Then he dropped the subject and checked my lungs for smoke inhalation. Greyson’s a man of few words, and he smiles about once a year. So that little speech was nearly more than he’d strung together in front of me in months.

The bakery is dark and quiet when I push through the back door into the industrial kitchen. The shop is nestled along Sweetwater Avenue between a formal wear store on one side and a used bookshop on the other. Sydney and I painted the old brick front white while still keeping some of the original red and tantones peeking through. The huge plate glass window out front is covered by an awning. Our name,Baker From Another Mother, is embossed across the window in a scrolling font.

The smell of sugar and butter fills the air even though the ovens have been off for over twelve hours. I inhale deeply, finding my calm here in my happy place. My routine kicks in on autopilot: flicking the lights, grabbing my apron off the hook and walking to the double wide fridge to pull out butter and eggs.

The back door opens and Sydney comes in like a kid bursting in through the screen door on a hot summer day.

“Whew!” She grabs her apron. “My shower was colder than Burgess Falls. I need to get Liam to come look at my water heater. I’m officially a member of the polar plunge club today!”

“I’m thinking Liam has to do more than merely look at that old water heater. You’re going to have to buy a new one.”

“Hush! I haven’t even had my coffee and you’re doing way too much adult responsibility talk for my brain.”

“I’ll put the coffee on. You grab the flour and sugar from the pantry and set the donut dough out to warm.”

We move through the kitchen, Sydney drinks her coffee between frying the donuts and rolling out the cookie dough for our famous sugar cookies. I bake our specialty muffins and feed the sourdough starter so it will be ready to bake in a few hours. We’re focused and quiet at times, conversant at others.

Our doors open an hour and a half after we arrived. The first customers filter in, mostly policemen, a few teachers, nurses, and a construction crew. As the morning progresses, our shop hums with the bustle of regulars and then, by around nine, we’ve only got a few stay-at-home moms lingering around a table, their infants in strollers, pastries and coffees laid out between them while they grab a moment’s solace and a precious rare slice of adult conversation.

Here in the bakery, the fire feels like a distant nightmare, something I dreamed up. The morning routine, the parade of familiar customers, and the careful measuring of ingredients to make something predictably delicious all comfort me. If the fire were in my imagination, the presumptuous firefighter with his slate blue eyes and those arms that lifted me like I was an empty bag of flour would never have entered my home uninvited.

He probably came to Tennessee to become a country music star. Our state doesn’t need to become the next frontier for Californians seeking fame and glory. We’re good, Mister California. Thanks anyway.

“Earth to Emberleigh. Come in?” Sydney’s voice brings me back to reality.

I look down at the box I was filling to take out on delivery, and I chuckle.

“I’m throwing in some freebies.”

“Four freebies?” Sydney’s face is a mask ofyou’re so busted.

“Okay. Okay. I was distracted—thinking about the fire.”

“You looked like you were ready to kick someone’s butt.”

“That fireman.”

Sydney’s my best friend. My ride-or-die. She’s the closest thing to a sister I ever had. There’s no hiding from her, so I don’t even try.

“Hot and bothered, are we?” Her voice is teasing and light.

“Bothered. Not hot. At all.”

“What’s he like?”

“Annoying. Pushy … Huge.”

“Huge, huh?” Her eyes sparkle with interest.

“In an annoying way. Did you miss the annoying part?”

“He threw you over his shoulder in one movement?”

She’s nearly panting at the thought.

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