Chapter 5
five
. . .
Emmy
There should be a rule—an actual law, punishable by community service and a handwritten apology—against kissing someone who has known you since you were both practically babies and then being expected to act totally normal after.
Because I am absolutely not normal right now. Not even close.
Darkness has fallen outside and I’ve been staring at the same mixing bowl of ingredients for so long that they have blended into a single regrettable lump. My brain is useless. My hands? Useless. My heart? Beating like I’m running a 5K.
All because Hayes kissed me like I was the last sweet thing on earth.
I press both palms to my cheeks. They are still warm.
Ridiculous. I am ridiculous.
I try to whisk, but my whole body is moving in slow-motion.
Every time I blink, I see it again. The leaning in. The gentle-but-firm pull. The way he kissed me like he’d been practicing in his head for years.
Maybe he had.
Ugh. Nope. No. We are not doing that spiral today.
I look over at him.
Hayes is across the community-center kitchen, rinsing off the large mixing bowl he used for the cookie dough earlier, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing in that terribly distracting way they do.
And I…I am just standing here watching him like a creep.
He glances over.
I jerk my attention back to the bowl like it suddenly contains the mysteries of the universe.
“Everything okay over there?” he asks, voice warm, a little amused.
Lie. Lie convincingly, Emmy.
“Peachy!” I say brightly. Too brightly. Like a Disney Princess hopped up on espresso.
His lips tilt in that half-smile that should be illegal. “Uh-huh.”
He doesn’t push, but I can feel him watching me. It makes my skin prickle, my breath shorten, my heartbeat thrum in a way that is absolutely not conducive to baking.
I take a deep breath and stir the mixture in front of me, trying to ground myself. Work helps. Usually. Except when my brain keeps replaying last night in high-definition slow motion.
He kissed me.
I kissed him back.
And it wasn’t a mistake.
That’s the part that’s messing me up.
It feels like a brand new beginning. A door that was always there, staring us right in the face, that’s finally open.
It sounds stupid and incredibly cheesy, but I feel like I’m seeing the world in brighter colors now.
All from a single kiss.
I grip the countertop, steadying myself.
“Are you sure everything’s okay over there?” Hayes asks, drying his hands.
“I’m focusing,” I insist.
“Right. On… flour?”
I close my eyes. “Please stop talking.”
He laughs under his breath—a low, warm rumble that skitters right down my spine.
I cannot do this.
I cannot bake and blush and internally combust all day.
I turn away and grab the sack of cinnamon. We don’t need cinnamon yet, but I need something to stare at that is not him.
His voice softens. “Em.”
I freeze.
Because I know that tone.
Soft.
Careful.
Sweet.
It’s all weighing on him, too.
Good. It should. He’s the one who kissed me first!
He steps closer. Not too close. Just enough for me to feel him at my back.
“You don’t have to act fine,” he murmurs. “Not with me.”
My throat feels tight. “I’m not acting.”
A single beat of silence tells me he’s calling my bluff without saying a word.
“We can talk later,” he says quietly. “Or now. Or not at all until you’re ready. But don’t pretend nothing’s changed.”
My heart somersaults.
I grip the cinnamon tighter. “Everything is changing.”
He is silent for a moment. Then whispers softly, “Yeah. It is.”
I swallow. “Hayes…”
But before I can finish, before I can unravel into the feelings clawing up my chest, the community center door bangs open.
“EMMY!” Evie’s voice slices through the air. “Tell me why Mom is texting me pictures of the bakery and asking if you’ve died!”
I sag forward in pure relief. Saved by chaos.
Hayes mutters, “Perfect timing,” under his breath.
Evie storms inside, her scarf half-on and half-off, doing her usual dramatic, flailing arm thing.
I don’t even get a greeting before she hooks me by the elbow and launches into a rant about the town Facebook group, rumors, and someone named Juniper Hart claiming she saw “flames shooting to the heavens.”
And just like that, the spell breaks. My heartbeat barely returns to normal, and I have room to breathe again.
I glance over my shoulder.
Hayes is watching me.
Not pushing.
Not demanding.
Just waiting.
And that—more than the kiss, more than the maple in the cookies, more than the memory he gave back to me—is what settles warm and deep in my chest.
He’ll wait.
For me.
For the conversation.
For whatever this is becoming.
For the first time in a long time, the idea of letting someone…letting Hayes in doesn’t make me want to run.
It makes me want to stay.
“So, of course, Mom drove to the bakery to see for herself,” Evie keeps on rambling.
“I told you we shouldn’t have given her an extra key.
” She takes a deep breath. “She let herself in and said she could still smell the smoke in the air but the whole place looked like it had been deep cleaned and the kitchen was clearly freshly painted. Not a speck of dust in sight.”
My eyes widen and I look over and Hayes again. He just shrugs.
Evie’s still going on. “So then she asked when we decided to remodel and where we’ve been hiding if the cafe has been closed for the last few days.
It was like a whole thing. She was freaking out even more because you weren’t answering your phone!
So, then I had Gideon drive me here right away so I could check on you. ”
Gideon pokes his head in before stepping completely inside the kitchen. “Hope it’s okay that I came inside. Just wanted to make sure everything was fine.” He looks over, and Hayes nods. “Hey, Hayes.”
That’s when Evie finally reads the room and I know I’m in trouble.
“Ohhh. You’re still here,” she says with an amused expression on her face.
“Where else would I be, Evie? I came to help and as I recall, someone else snuck out for…” he replies but Evie interrupts him with a hand over his mouth.
“You hush, Mr. Firefighter.” Then she looks at me. “And just what have you two accomplished in my absence?”
Evie wiggles her eyebrows so aggressively I’m amazed they don’t launch off her face and hit the ceiling.
“Evie,” I warn, but she’s already scanning the kitchen like she’s hunting for evidence of impropriety. Or discarded clothing.
“Wellll?” she presses.
I cross my arms. “We baked. Worked. That’s it.”
Hayes says at the exact same time, “Cookies.”
I shoot him a glare. He shrugs again—helpless, adorable, completely unbothered.
Traitor.
Evie squints at him. “What kind of cookies?”
“Chocolate chip,” he answers easily.
She gasps dramatically. “Your chocolate chip cookies? You allowed cross-contamination of his chaotic bachelor energy with your sensible and overly organized process?”
Hayes chokes back a laugh and leans a hip against the counter. “Chaotic bachelor energy?”
“You know what you are,” she fires back.
Gideon slips an arm around her waist, tugging her back against him. “Evie,” he murmurs, amusement threading through his voice, “maybe ease up before you combust.”
She pats his chest. “I can’t ease up. I’m fueled by anxiety and caffeine. Easing up is not an option.”
“Sounds familiar,” Hayes mutters, nodding his head toward me. “Must run in the family.”
I elbow him. Hard. He doesn’t even pretend it hurt. Instead, his hand lands on the small of my back. Warm. Solid. Steadying in that way he doesn’t even realize he does.
Evie notices immediately because Evie always notices everything.
She points at his hand. “Aha!”
“Evie—” I start.
“No, no, I’m not judging,” she says with fake innocence. “I’m merely observing. And what I’m observing is that you two are standing very… very… close.”
Gideon snorts. “Babe, leave them alone.”
“Babe?” Her head snaps to Gideon for a split second. “We will discuss that later.” Then her gaze is back on us, eyes narrowing in delighted suspicion. “I will not be silenced.”
“I’m going to silence you,” I growl.
She gasps. “Threats! She’s making threats! This day keeps getting better.”
I groan loudly, covering my face. “Evie, please. Nothing happened.”
Hayes’s hand disappears from my back, just for a second—but I feel the absence like a cold draft in winter. Then, just as quickly, he rests it on the counter, the tiniest bit closer to me than necessary
He isn’t contradicting me.
He isn’t agreeing either.
He’s letting me lead.
It sends a strange, warm ache right beneath my ribs.
Evie’s about to pick apart the air between us again when Hayes clears his throat. “We actually did get work done,” he says. “Em’s already halfway through the cinnamon swirls, and the cookies for the kindergarteners are cooling.”
Evie blinks. “Wait. You baked for children? Like, unsupervised?”
Hayes smirks. “Em supervised.”
“I literally did not,” I admit. “You snuck maple in the recipe!”
Evie gasps at me. “So this man—this firefighter—has been allowed to perform unsupervised culinary activities with family recipes?”
I spread my hands helplessly. “He’s very… competent.”
Hayes raises an eyebrow at that, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Competent?”
Evie wiggles again. “Oh, I bet he is.”
Gideon shakes his head with a groan. “Evie, please.”
I shove a few dirty cookie trays at her. “Wash these.”
She just beams triumphantly at me. “You’re blushing.”
“No, I’m overheating from the oven.”
“The oven. Riiiiight,” she says smugly.
I turn to Hayes for help. He looks right at me—knowing and patient—and the blush gets worse.
He doesn’t say a word.
But I know what he’s thinking when he licks his lips.
He’s thinking about our kiss, too.
And worse?
I know he’s waiting to see what I’ll do about it.
“Since I stole Evie away from you, and we’re back here now,” Gideon speaks up. “What do you have left that we can help with?”
“You want to help?” Evie and I both ask at the same time.
“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Evie adds.