Page 8 of Cakewalk

“Oven’s ready!” Gigi said to the empty apartment as the appliance beeped at her. Grabbing the muffin tray off the counter, she slipped it inside and closed the door with her hip. She set the timer, and then upped it a couple more minutes, wanting to make sure these were fully cooked.

See, you’re getting the hang of this! It just takes practice.

Turning around, she frowned as she took inventory of the incredible mess she’d made. Working in this little space was so much harder than the giant kitchen at the Busy Bean. Her one little counter in this kitchenette only had a fraction of the space that the big, long prep tables there had. Trying to follow this recipe on her phone, while the counter was covered in flour, sugar, and every other ingredient she’d purchased on her way home this evening, was proving a lot more challenging than she’d thought.

The whole process had taken her a good bit longer than expected, but when she finally got the muffin tray into the oven, she heaved a huge sigh of relief. However, the idea of cleaning all this up seemed a little too daunting for the moment. Why was it so easy to make the mess, but so much harder to clean it all up? Not that she’d ever taken her staff for granted—she knew they worked hard—but she had a whole new level of respect and understanding for them after this week.

Sipping on a glass of limoncello, Gigi wandered over to the little window that looked over the yard and toward the big Victorian house. The stately looking home was painted a soft, light blue color with white trim and featured large, two story bow windows, one on either side of the front door. It looked exactly like something you’d see in a magazine about old houses, and Gigi couldn’t help but wonder if the inside was decorated to match the classic New England exterior or if it was done up in a more modern way. Holden didn’t exactly seem like someone who was particularly interested in all the latest and greatest gadgets, but what did she know? They’d had all of three conversations since she moved in here.

“Well, hello there, sir…” Gigi muttered, taking a long sip of her drink as Holden appeared in view of her window.

He was walking up the long driveway with what looked like the mail in his hand, his strides long and graceful like he was a lion who was lazily sauntering across the prairie. When he’d walked up to the counter last week at the coffee shop, Gigi had immediately been taken with him, although she had no idea why. He was nothing like her husband, or any of the men she’d dated before. At almost six feet tall, he had plenty of height on her, but that still made him shorter than her usual type. But his broad shoulders and muscular frame that always seemed to move so gracefully, no matter what she saw him doing, sent sparks through her body. His piercing blue eyes were guarded, giving away nothing about what he was feeling. Gigi couldn’t read his face even the slightest bit, and that only served to intrigue her more. Oh, and that beard. Beards had never, ever been something that Gigi had found attractive, and yet on Holden, that long, somewhat ragged beard, with streaks of gray starting to weave their way through it, was such a turn-on.

And then there were his tattoos. She hadn’t gotten to see them up close, other than the few that were poking out of his pushed up long-sleeved shirt, but both arms appeared to be covered in brightly colored art, and it left her wondering just how far up his arms they went and where else he might be inked. Watching him now, she was disappointed to see that those beautiful forearms were once again covered in long sleeves as he headed into the house.

Snap out of it, girl. Who are you? Thinking about beards and tattooed arms, she scolded herself. Just because he was tall, dark, and mysterious, with hair just long enough to always look perfectly mussed, didn’t mean she should be standing here lusting after him. This was not how a recently widowed woman reacts to men who aren’t their husband. Never mind that her husband wasn’t actually dead. Regardless, she didn’t need to be distracted. She was starting over and finding herself—and finding herself did not require a man in any way.

A fierce smell hit her nostrils, tearing her attention away from her daydreaming. Sniffing a couple of times, she tried to place the smell. It almost smelled like…like something was burning.

“Mother trucker!” she exclaimed, taking three large steps to land her back in the kitchenette.

Placing her glass on the stove and grabbing a kitchen towel, she flung open the oven door to find her cupcake tray on fire. The flames were small but still covered more than half of the items, and if she didn’t do something quick, it would be all of them.

“No, no, no!” she yelled, looking around her, trying to figure out what to do. She just had to remember to breathe. No big deal. So the cupcakes were on fire. Grasping the oven rack with the towel, she pulled it out as far as it would go and started to blow on the flames as if they were candles on a birthday cake. This only seemed to make the flames grow, and panic started to rush through Gigi’s body.

“Stop!” she told them, as if somehow food was suddenly going to talk back. “Sugar Honey Iced Tea!”

Unsure of how to make them stop, she swatted at them with the towel she was still holding. For a brief second this seemed to work, until she looked at the towel and noticed that it was now also on fire. Letting out another shriek, she threw it as hard as she could toward the sink. Missing the sink by just enough to be an issue, the towel brushed against the faded floral curtains that hung around the itty-bitty window just above it. Gigi’s eyes went wide as she watched the flames jump from the towel to the cheap fabric of the curtains, which lit up faster than anything she’d ever seen.

“No, no, no!” she repeated, frozen in place, watching as the flames grew bigger. What did she do? Was she really that big of an idiot that she just set her kitchen on fire?

“Georgia, what were you thinking? You are not cut out for domesticity. Just stick with being pretty, would ya?” Bradley’s voice said. She could feel the tears start to sting in her eyes at the thought. But she couldn’t let him be right. She just didn’t know what to do.

A loud pop resounded through the little studio apartment as one of the cabinets next to the flames splintered from the heat. The amount of smoke filling the room was starting to make Gigi’s eyes burn. She needed to figure out how to put this fire out and fast. Water? Was that the answer? Yes, of course water was the answer. Water plus fire equals no more fire, Gigi. That’s how this works!

She needed something to fill with water, and she didn’t dare use any of the items that currently sat dirty in the sink. They probably had oil residue from the batter, and oil was bad for flames, right? Hadn’t she read that somewhere at some point? Why couldn’t she remember these things? She could feel her whole body shaking as she spun around to find something to fill up. Her lungs were starting to hurt from the smoke, and her eyes were burning even more now. Her heart was pounding and her breath was ragged, and she couldn’t remember ever being this terrified. This was even worse than the tire blowing out last week. Just as she lifted her hand to reach for a cabinet door, she felt it come into contact with something.

Her glass.

She remembered she had left it on top of the stove just as she watched the pale yellow liquid spill out through the haze. As the alcohol hit the still burning tray of cupcakes, Gigi could feel the heat of the flames whoosh over her. The fire in the oven tripled in size thanks to the limoncello, and all Gigi could feel was the heat start to engulf her. She took a few steps back, trying to get away from it, when a loud bang startled her, causing her to trip and land on her rear end.

“What the fuck?” Holden called out, coughing as he entered her apartment. “Gigi!”

“Holden!" she shouted back, trying to push herself up.

Next thing she knew, he was right next to her, scooping her up off the floor. In a single movement he threw her over his shoulder, like she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. He rushed through the door of the apartment and barreled down the stairs. She jostled a bit as he did so, but was thankful to no longer be anywhere near the flames. He had one arm wrapped around her knees and the other holding her in place on her back. His hands were warm and strong against her, and there was a feeling of comfort to them in this moment.

“But it’s on fire!” she exclaimed a few steps from the stairs.

“I’ve called the fire department,” he replied harshly, taking a few more steps before putting her down. He took in what a mess she was, still covered in cake ingredients and now smoke. “You okay?”

“I…I…I…” she stumbled, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. She could hear the sirens of response vehicles approaching, and her heart skipped a beat thinking about how much damage there was going to be to the apartment.

“It’s okay,” Holden told her, his face grim. “You’re safe.”

“But the carriage house!”

Before Holden could respond any more, a small fire truck, followed by two pickups and a sedan, pulled up the driveway, lights and sirens blaring. Three men suited up in their fire-retardant gear piled out of the fire truck, and two of them headed straight up the carriage house stairs, extinguishers in hand. The two men who got out of the pickups ran over to the fire truck and helped the last guy unravel the fire hose and get it hooked up to a hydrant down by the street. Gigi watched in amazement as these men did everything in tandem at what felt like warp speed. The only place she’d ever seen anything like this was on TV, and she still couldn’t believe she was witnessing it now. Had she really done this? How on earth did a kitchen fire get this out of hand so quick?