Page 21 of Burnin' For You
And Gilly wished, just for a second, for the fun Juliet, the one from last night who’d roped her into—well, even that had ended up a disaster, hadn’t it?
“I’m sorry, Juliet.”
Her sister wore a pink Hot Cakes Bakery apron, matching pink T-shirt, a pair of jeans, her brown hair up in a bun and hairnet—the same type of apron and hairnet she’d made Gilly wear.
Although Gilly’s apron looked like a piece of modern art, smeared with flour, banana batter, and chocolate frosting.
Five hours was not enough sleep on her day off.Someoneshould have mentioned last night as Gilly drove them home in her Mustang the fact that spending the night reliving the debacle on the dance floor might interfere with today’s mission.
Namely the mixing, baking, and decorating of twelve dozen designer cupcakes.
“I’m sorry, Juliet. I’m not cut out for this job.” Gilly reached behind to untie her apron, but Juliet caught her arms.
She wore what Gilly might call desperation in her expression. “I need you. Just for a couple of hours. I’ll finish mixing and baking—”
“And decorating.”
“For sure.” Juliet’s smile tweaked up one side. “You load the cases.”
“Done,” Gilly said, glancing again at the fire report, a screen on her cell phone.
“For cryin’ in the sink, Gilly. You don’t have to put out every fire.”
Gilly moved the tray of fresh peanut-butter-and-chocolate-fudge muffins to the front room.
Painted a faded pink, the room glowed with a princess touch, from the gold-leafed antique cash register to the hanging chandelier lights, to the old-fashioned cupcake case, the ornate scrollwork painted a crisp white. With white-painted metal French tables and chairs, and the wordsHOT CAKES BAKERYstenciled into the wall in decadent chocolate brown, her sisters had clearly snubbed the prevalent fire theme that swept through the town of Ember: the Hotline Saloon and Grill, the Spotfire Diner. Even the local football team named, appropriately, the Flames.
Although occasionally, Gilly had the urge to point out the word Hot in their name.
Still, Juliet and Belle managed to create a business that now included mail-order desserts. Probably because they rose at four a.m. and worked like dogs. Or, perhaps, like firefighters.
Gilly returned to the back room. Juliet was filling a fresh tin with banana-nut batter. A smile quirked up her face, some private thought.
“What?”
“I was just thinking about the fire you so adeptly doused last night.”
Gilly reached for the cherry-vanilla cupcakes, topped with red frosting and a white-chocolate heart. “What fire?”
Juliet slipped the tin into the oven, set the timer.
Oops, maybe Gillyhadskipped that part...
Juliet turned, grinning. “The one sparking between you and that dark-haired hunk of a cowboy.”
“Reuben?” Heat flushed Gilly’s chest. Oh, she’d embarrassed him—evident by his expression as she screamed.
Why had she screamed?
It wasn’t Reuben’s fault he had resurrected her demons. That being trapped, even a little, beneath him had scoured up the nightmares. That she could think of nothing else but running from the Hotline in a full sprint. She knew how it looked—pitiful. Weak. And it only confirmed that dating—and especiallydancingwith—any of her teammates was not only awkward but turned her into someone in need of protection.
Which was exactly what she told Juliet after her sister had tracked her down, sitting in her Mustang, the engine revving.
“That was the stupidest move ever,” she’d muttered, mostly to herself, but also to Juliet, referring to her bright idea of the blue dress. And, of course, the dancing part.
“No it wasn’t. You two were cute.” Juliet had slid into the passenger seat, glowing, it seemed, from her twirl around the floor with CJ. He had come out and waved at her, leaning against the door jamb as Gilly pulled away.
“I can’t afford to be cute. The last thing I need is for Reuben—or any of the team, really—seeing me as some sort of, well, ahot cake, in need of rescue. They need to depend on me.”