Page 16 of Frosted Fakes

"Why did you agree to this?" Elliott asked suddenly. "The bakery. If you can't bake."

Julia's hands stilled in the soapy water. "My mother."

"Your mother made you take over a bakery you can't run?"

"My mother thinks I can do anything if I just try hard enough." Julia's voice was bitter in a way Elliott hadn't heard before. "She bought this place and told me I had twelve months to prove myself. A year to stop being a disappointment, I suppose."

Elliott felt that twinge again. Stronger this time. "And if you don't?"

"Then I'm cut off. From everything." Julia resumed washing, her movements jerky. "The money, the family, all of it. I'll be on my own."

"Would that be so bad?"

Julia laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "I don't know. I've never been on my own. Not really."

Elliott thought about being seventeen, with nothing but a backpack to her name. About learning to survive without a safety net, without family, without anyone to catch her when she fell.

"It's not as scary as you'd think," she said quietly.

Before Julia could respond, the front door opened and Jamie walked in, looking harried.

"Thank God," he said when he saw Elliott. "I thought the place was going to burn down. I've heard that alarm go off at least five times today."

"Six," Elliott corrected. "I've been counting."

Jamie took in the state of the kitchen, then Julia's flour-covered appearance, and his expression softened. "Rough day?"

"You could say that." Julia attempted a smile. It didn't quite work.

"She's been attempting to bake," Elliott said flatly. "With predictable results."

"Ah." Jamie nodded sagely. "Have you considered… not?"

"Not baking?" Julia looked panicked. "But I have to. The bakery—"

"The bakery has Elliott." Jamie gestured at her like she was an exhibit in a museum. "Who, from what I understand, is rather good at this sort of thing."

"I'm working on my cookbook," Elliott said immediately. "I don't have time to teach basic skills to someone who can't tell the difference between baking powder and baking soda."

"They're different?" Julia asked weakly.

Elliott stared at her. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I… am definitely joking." Julia did not sound convincing.

Jamie laughed, then tried to hide it behind a cough when Elliott glared at him. "Look, I'm just saying, you two are going to be living together anyway from what Tara tells me. You could be working in the same kitchen. Julia could learn a lot from you, Elliott."

"Julia could learn a lot from YouTube," Elliott shot back. "Or a cookbook. Or literally anyone else."

"But you're right here." Jamie spread his hands. "Convenient, isn't it?"

"I'm not convenient. I'm busy." Elliott crossed her arms. "I'm working on something important. I don't have time to hold hands with some little rich girl playing at running a bakery."

The words came out harsher than she'd intended. Julia flinched like she'd been slapped.

"Right," Julia said quietly. "Of course. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I’ll take the batteries out of the smoke alarm next time."

She turned and walked out of the kitchen, spine very straight, shoulders very stiff. A moment later, Elliott heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the flat.