Chapter Seven #4
He nodded and walked away.
I watched him go.
Talia stepped beside me.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“No.”
“That was a very loud stare.”
“I am tired.”
“You are in trouble.”
“I am in a fundraiser.”
“Same thing this week.”
I looked at the donation sign.
Eighty-three percent.
Then out the side door where Crew disappeared with the trash bags, his Captain Problem apron tied tight at his waist, his shoulders dusted with my bakery’s flour.
My bakery had survived.
The fundraiser had survived.
Tom had survived the morning.
I should have felt steady.
Instead, I felt the ground changing under me.
Because Crew Donnelly had left once and broken my heart.
But today he had stayed.
Through water, panic, cupcakes, old kitchens, my orders, my anger, my fear.
He had stayed.
And when he came back through the door, empty-handed and looking at me first, my heart did the one thing I had specifically told it not to do.
It believed him for half a second.
That was all.
Half a second.
But half a second was enough for a disaster to find a foothold.
Then Mrs. Paxton’s phone rang.
She answered, listened, and went pale.
Everyone turned.
Crew stopped in the doorway.
“What?” he asked.
Mrs. Paxton lowered the phone slowly.
“That was the roofing company.”
My stomach dropped.
Tom.
The roof.
The fundraiser.
“What did they say?” I asked.
Mrs. Paxton swallowed.
“The repair slot opened early. They can start work if we have the full deposit by tomorrow at noon.”
The room went silent.
“How much are we short?” Crew asked.
Mrs. Paxton looked at the donation board.
Then at us.
“Seventeen percent.”
Talia whispered, “That’s still a lot.”
Mrs. Paxton nodded.
“But if we get it by noon tomorrow, the roof can be fixed before the Fourth.”
Before the Fourth.
Before Tom’s parade.
Before his final grand marshal ride.
Before the center had to host half the town under a leaking roof.
Crew looked at me.
I looked at him.
The choice arrived without asking permission.
Bigger fundraiser push.
More public attention.
More appearances.
More #TheViralBet risk.
More us.
I felt my walls lift.
Then crack.
Crew saw it.
He always saw too much.
His voice came quiet.
“We don’t have to.”
The room waited.
Mrs. Paxton waited.
Talia waited.
The roof waited.
Tom waited, even though he was not there.
I hated the answer before I said it.
But I said it anyway.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Crew’s eyes sharpened.
“Yes?”
I lifted my chin.
“If the internet wants a show,” I said, “we give them one.”
Talia’s mouth fell open.
Mrs. Paxton made a small noise that might have been prayer.
Crew did not smile.
He looked at me like he understood exactly what it cost.
“What kind of show?” he asked.
I glanced at the apron.
Then at the empty cupcake trays.
Then at the donation board.
Then back at Captain Problem himself.
“One night,” I said. “One livestream. Controlled. Fundraiser only. We sell the aprons, push donations, auction cupcakes, whatever it takes.”
Crew went very still.
He knew what I was doing.
He knew what line I was crossing.
He also knew why.
“No couple language,” he said.
“No couple language,” I agreed.
“No hearts.”
“No hearts.”
“No questions about us.”
I swallowed.
“No questions about us.”
Talia lifted one hand slowly.
“You do realize that if you two host a livestream together in aprons after a ceiling leak and a public apology and an accidental merch line, the comments are going to become feral.”
I looked at Crew.
Crew looked at me.
His eyes held every warning.
Every memory.
Every promise he had not yet earned the right to make.
I forced a smile.
Sharp.
Brave.
Probably stupid.
“Then we make them pay to be feral.”
Crew stared at me.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Okay.”
The word landed like a door opening.
Not safe.
Not closed.
Open.
Mrs. Paxton whispered, “I’ll call Dotty.”
“No,” I said immediately.
She froze.
I looked at Crew.
He looked back.
For the first time all week, the plan did not feel like something happening to me.
It felt like something I chose.
“Tell Dotty,” I said, “we announce it ourselves.”
Crew’s phone buzzed.
Mine did too.
The same message, from the Spitfires group chat, forwarded by Wilder before Sutton could stop him.
Frankie: WHAT IF THEY CALL IT THE ROOF RESCUE LIVESTREAM?
I looked at Crew.
Crew looked at me.
Talia looked at the ceiling like she could see God and God was laughing.
Then Crew’s mouth twitched.
“No,” he said.
I folded my arms.
“Absolutely not.”
My phone buzzed again.
Frankie, somehow now texting me directly.
Frankie: THE CAPTAIN PROBLEM TELETHON?
I stared at the screen.
Crew read it and closed his eyes.
Against every bit of common sense I had left, I laughed.
A real laugh.
Again.
Crew opened his eyes.
The room went soft around us.
I pointed at him before he could enjoy it.
“Do not look at me like that.”
He looked at me like that anyway.
Quiet.
Careful.
Remembering.
And this time, I did not tell him to stop.
Not fast enough.
Not before everyone saw.
Not before Talia whispered, “Oh, we are absolutely doomed.”
And not before I realized the livestream was no longer the most dangerous idea in the room.