"Stop being a clown and grab an apron," I laughed, pointing toward the hook near the pantry. "We have two hundred cupcakes and fifty loaves of sourdough to knock out before tomorrow morning."
"Clown? I am an unappreciated culinary genius, Bennett," Drew grinned, tossing his coffee tray onto the counter and tying a white baker’s apron around his waist.
For the next several hours, the quiet bakery kitchen transformed into a well-oiled assembly line.
Drew took charge of the heavy manual labor, hauling fifty-pound sacks of flour from the storage room, mixing giant bowls of sourdough dough, and carrying heavy metal baking trays in and out of the roaring ovens.
I focused on the precision work: measuring spices, piping perfect swirls of pumpkin batter into paper liners, and whisking the golden wildflower honey glaze we’d picked up the night before.
The work was hard, but having Drew there made the time fly by surprisingly fast.
We fell into an easy, natural rhythm that brought back a rush of high school memories. We joked about our old AP Chemistry teacher, argued good-naturedly over the best radio stations, and even ended up in a brief, ridiculous flour-dusted war when Drew accidentally tipped a bag of powdered sugar over my apron.
"You did that on purpose, Miller!" I gasped, wiping white powder off my cheek.
"Accident! Complete accident!" Drew held his hands up, laughing so hard his eyes crinkled at the corners. "You just look like a powdered donut now."
Around two in the afternoon, while we were waiting for the second batch of sourdough to proof on the wooden worktables, Drew leaned against the metal counter, taking a long sip from his water bottle.
He looked over at me, a casual, inquisitive smile playing on his lips.
"So," Drew started, resting his elbows behind him. "What’s the social scene like at Briar? Are any guys trying to take you out when you’re not locked in the library?"
I paused mid-whisk, my hand stilling over the bowl of cream cheese frosting. "What?"
"You know... dating," Drew said softly, his hazel eyes holding mine with a subtle, curious warmth. "I mean, you’ve been at school for a while now. A pretty, smart girl like you? There’ve got to be guys asking."
"No," I answered quickly, a sudden, unexpected heat rising to my cheeks. "No guys. I don’t have time for dating, Drew. Between my scholarship requirements, course load, and work-study shifts, romance is literally at the bottom of my priority list."
’Strictly business,’ I reminded myself mentally.
But the moment the words left my mouth, an unwanted image flashed through my mind: Knox Sheridan leaning over his desk at five in the morning, his dark hair tousled, his jaw tight as he focused on his economics graphs. Another image of him carrying me to bed so I could sleep hit me, and then the memory of him handing me his hoodie.
My heart did a strange, uncomfortable squeeze.
"Good to know," Drew murmured, his smile widening slightly as he nodded.
Before I could say anything else, the creak of the wooden stairs echoed through the kitchen. We both turned to see my mother coming down slowly, one hand holding the railing, her face looking much brighter and rested.
"Mom! What are you doing out of bed?" I exclaimed, putting down my whisk and moving toward the stairs.
"I just came down to get a fresh cup of chamomile tea, sweetheart," she said, smiling warmly as her eyes swept across the clean, busy kitchen. Then her gaze landed on Drew, who immediately stood up straight.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bennett," Drew offered politely. "Don’t worry, I’m making sure she doesn’t overwork herself."
"It’s wonderful to see you, Drew," Mom said, her eyes twinkling with a sudden, quiet spark of amusement. She looked back at me, her gaze shifting between Drew’s open, friendly smile and my flour-dusted face.
Behind Drew’s back, my mother deliberately raised one dark eyebrow at me, a sly, knowing smirk touching the corner of her lips.
My face burned bright red.
"Mom, stop it!" I mouthed frantically, shooting her a glare.
Mom just chuckled softly, pouring her tea into a mug. "Well, you two carry on. Thank you for helping us today, Drew. You’re a lifesaver."
"Anytime, Mrs. Bennett," Drew smiled.
As soon as my mother slowly retreated back upstairs, I let out a long, flustered breath, quickly picking up my piping bag to hide my burning cheeks.
By nine-thirty, the entire bakery smelled like warm, roasted cinnamon and freshly baked bread.
Dozens of golden sourdough loaves rested in neat rows on the wooden cooling racks, their honey glaze sparkling under the kitchen lights. Beside them sat four large catering trays filled with two hundred perfectly frosted pumpkin spice cupcakes.
We had actually done it. The entire Fall Festival order was complete, golden, and ready for morning delivery.
My back was throbbing, my arms felt like lead weights, and my feet were practically numb inside my sneakers.
"That’s the last tray," Drew let out a low whistle, wiping his sweat-damp forehead with a clean towel. He looked over at me. "Nora, you look like you’re about to pass out on the floor. Go sit down. I’ll sweep up the loose flour and lock the back."
"Drew, you’ve been working for thirteen hours..."
"And I’m fine," he interrupted firmly, grabbing the broom from the corner. "Go sit."
"Thank you," I breathed, too exhausted to fight him.
I slumped down onto a heavy, unopened sack of sugar in the corner of the kitchen, resting my aching back against the brick wall. I let out a shaky breath and closed my eyes, listening to the steady scrape of Drew’s broom against the floor.
By the time I opened my eyes ten minutes later, the floor was spotless, and Drew was hanging the broom back on its wall mount.
Pushing myself up from the sugar sack with a small groan, I walked over to the cooling racks. "Hold on before you head out."
I packed a small bakery box with four freshly baked pumpkin cupcakes and a loaf of warm sourdough, tying it with a twine bow and handing it to him.
"For your uncle and you," I smiled warmly. "I can’t thank you enough, Drew. Seriously. I couldn’t have done this without you."
"Anytime, Nora," Drew smiled softly, taking the box. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me in a quick, warm goodbye hug. "Get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow morning to help load the delivery truck."
"See you tomorrow," I said, watching him walk out into the cool night air before locking the front door behind him.
I wiped down the counters, turned off the main oven lights, and headed upstairs to the small apartment.
Mom was already sleeping comfortably. I slipped into the bathroom, stripping off my flour-covered clothes and stepping into a steaming hot shower.
The hot water felt like heaven, washing away the tension, sweat, and dried flour from my skin.
Twenty minutes later, feeling clean and deeply relaxed in a soft pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, I walked into the kitchen to grab a bowl of soup before bed.
I reached for my phone on the kitchen counter, where it had sat untouched all day. I tapped the screen, and it lit up. My relaxed mood vanished instantly as I saw the pile of notifications waiting for me.
8 Missed Calls
Knox: Where the hell are you, Bennett? (3:10 PM)
Knox: I’m sitting in Study Room 4C. If you’re trying to dodge our contract, it’s not going to work. (3:30 PM)
Knox: Answer your phone. (5:00 PM)
Every drop of blood drained from my face as the realization hit: our mandatory tutoring session was supposed to be on Tuesday, 3PM.
In the non-stop chaos of the day and the frantic rush to finish the order on time, I had completely lost track of the days. I’d forgotten today was Tuesday.
"Oh, shit," I whispered, staring at the glowing screen in terror. "I completely forgot."