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“When’s the last time you slept?” Devyn asks me as I finish another order. My hands are shaky as I prepare a custom Valentine’s box for a customer, my fingers struggling as I try to tie the fancy ribbon.
“I slept just fine,” I murmur, setting that order aside and arranging another box. “I’m fine.”
But judging by the obscene number of macarons around me, I am definitely not fine.
“You stayed here all night, didn’t you?” Devyn accuses as I drop a raspberry macaron. “That’s why all the orders are done already.”
“Maybe. I can’t sleep,” I grumble, refusing to look at her. Instead, I focus on the batches of new flavors I crafted in the middle of the night, wondering what the hell to do with all of them.
“You need to sleep, Skye. Please, go home and rest, and I can—”
“Fundraiser!” I blurt, staring too long at an apricot cookie.
“What?”
“A fundraiser.” I turn to Devyn, meeting her confused eyes. “For reward money. That’s what we’ll do.”
“Skylar, what—”
“For April,” I insist, half delirious. “To find her. We’ll sell macarons.”
Devyn says something else, but I’m so sleep deprived that I don’t pay attention.
April’s been gone for a week.
Her face is plastered all over our tiny town, in every single business building that would allow me to do it.
And the ones that didn’t, I just showed up later in the night after they closed and taped up a poster, anyway.
No one has reached out. Customers have offered their condolences and kind words, but it’s not enough.
But now an idea brews in my head.
“Special edition flavors,” I murmur. “Only available for the fundraiser.”
“Skylar, what—” Devyn tries, but I continue.
“April’s Apricots.”
“What—”
“Omega Orange.”
“Skye—”
“Vanishing Red Velvet.”
“Skylar! Please!” Devyn slams her hand on the counter and snaps me out of my stupor. “Please, please go home and rest. We’ve got this.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “We don’t have anything until we find her,” I snap. “And you should be more concerned about this than you are.”
The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them, and Devyn’s eyes widen and turn glassy.
Oh, no.
“I am concerned about her,” she says, her cheeks turning pink. “How can you say that? I’ve been posting on social media. I’ve been telling every customer!” she chokes out. “She’s been the nicest to me here, so you’re not the only one that’s hurting!”
And when tears start to roll down her cheeks, I realize it’s time for me to go home and sleep.
