Page 56 of Take The Risk

​Erik chuckled.

​Louise appeared in the doorway, wringing her hands. I wouldn’t have thought much of it, except she zeroed in on me with a hopeful expression I didn’t like. “So…”

​Nothing good started like that.

​“We’ve—um…we’ve seemed to…Have I told you how amazing your cookies are?” Louise paired her hopeful expression with a slightly demented smile.

​“No.”

​Erik disappeared so fast I felt wind in a kitchen where there shouldn’t be.

​“It’s just that, in their excitement, the girls”—she jerked her head at her twins, who were on counter duty—“might have oversold the cookie pickup for your cookies?”

​Crap.

​You can say no, Phoebe. You weren’t even supposed to bake this weekend for the café.

​On my wrist, my watch buzzed, and my heart, the idiotic thing that still hadn’t learned, leapt only to crumble when the notification was an email.

​“How many?” Maybe I’d just make enough for next weekend, too.

​“Two hundred?”

​My jaw dropped. “I don’t have enough chocolate for that.” I used a very specific brand of chocolate for the chips and chunks. Anything else wouldn’t do.

​Louise’s smile grew even bigger until I was pretty sure I was seeing her wisdom teeth. “So…”

​Ugh…here we go again.

​“I might have ordered your chocolate and supplies in early. We have everything you need here.” She pointed to the large pantry lining the back wall.

​“All right,” I caved. What else was I going to do? Stare at a phone that clearly wasn’t going to ring? “What time do they need to be back by?”

​Louise gave me a look.

​“How long?”

​“In ninety minutes?” Louise eeked with a wince.

​“That’s not enough time.” My double ovens were good, but they weren’t miracle workers.

​“You can bake here.” Louise snagged an apron off the hook. Clearly, she thought I was someone who could stand being this close to a large group of people looking in at me. Apparently, living with me and learning about my little…disorder hadn’t driven home the limitations.

​In my head, a note flashed. The newest one in a long line of them. This one more disturbing than the last and left on my car windshield. I was too exposed.

​“I can’t.” I started backing away. Sweat popped out on my brow, and I instinctively reached to pull the collar of my turtleneck away from my throat so it wouldn’t choke me, only to remember why I had to wear it in the first place. “I’m so sorry, Lou—”

​Backpedaling, I slammed into Erik. He grabbed my elbows firmly but gently, squeezing in a rhythm that my brain couldn’t follow, even though the panic inside me could. “There’s a counter over in the back corner,” he said gently, moving so everyone else in the kitchen couldn’t see, right about the time I felt my eyes prick with tears and my cheeks burn in mortification.

​If there was one thing I liked less than crowds, it was having people witness when my panic decided to be an asshole and take over my body.

​“It’s nice and out of the way and close to the baking ovens you need,” Erik assured me, his hands continuing the squeeze thing Alex did. I planned on asking him later how he knew how to do that.

​Louise snapped at the couple of sous-chefs in the kitchen, telling them the food wasn’t going to get itself into the customers’ mouths.

​Erik showed me where I’d be working, not letting go of me until I was steady.

Louise appeared at my side. Quietly, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I didn’t mean to set you off.”