“I play baseball,” Ollie says, even though nobody asked.
“Dude, yes!” Sawyer moves in for a fist bump and Ollie relaxes. “We need some fresh blood on the team. What position?”
“Center field.”
“Are you free this afternoon?” Sawyer asks. “I’m out at one—let’s hit the batting cages.”
“Sure.” Ollie my brother is back. Cool. Calm. Casual. As if this moment isn’t everything his little baseball heart had hoped for and more.
He’s totally, without a doubt, dying inside.
They exchange cell phone numbers and coordinate plans and, wow, Ollie is good. I don’t even have Sawyer’s number yet, and I’ve sat with him at lunch every day. At school, he’s Molly and Sawyer, so to be honest, having Molly’s number in my phone is like having Sawyer’s, too. But still.
“So when can you start?” Sawyer asks me.
“Whenever.”
“You’re hired.”
I laugh, because that’s so not how this works. Sawyer cannot just hire me; I need to botch an interview first, at the very least.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, skeptical.
He makes a face at me, like I’ve wounded his ego or something. “I mean it. It’s my parents’ bakery, you know? So if you want the job, it’s yours.”
“You can do that?” I ask.
“Technically, no. Practically, yeah. Be right back.”
Sawyer folds my application in half and disappears into the kitchen. I don’t even have time to process what is happening before he returns with a stapled packet in his hand.
“Start the paperwork,” he says. “At school tomorrow, get a work permit from the office. It needs to be signed by a parent or guardian. Fill everything out, and boom. You are employed.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”
“Cool. I’ll have Dad, ahem, Mr. Davidson, give the final okay when he comes in later today. Let me …” His voice trails off and his attention shifts to another sheet of paper. “Can you start Wednesday?”
That seems so fast and I am not prepared for any of this. But I have a ton of reviews to bake for and this is my only shot, so I swallow that answer and say, “Sounds good.”
“Cool,” Sawyer says again. “Welcome aboard!”
“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously.”
“Of course!” He looks at Ollie. “See you later?”
“Yup.” Ollie’s pupils practically have heart-eye emojis in them.
“I’ll see you around,” I say, trying to be casual.
Sawyer nods. “See ya, Hal-lee.”
I exit Maple Street Sweets high on cinnamon sugar and having a job. So on the car ride back to Gramps’s, Ollie and I blast music and freak out.
“I have a job!” I say.
Ollie pumps his fist in the air. “I’m going to make varsity!”
Then his face falls. “Wait. Why did you let me agree to go hit with him?”
I turn down the music. “What?”
“He’s so cool and he’s captain,” Ollie says. “What if I botch this? I’m out of practice.”
“He has a girlfriend, you know,” I say.
He flips me off. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“Ol, you got this. I promise. Baseball is like breathing for you. And as for the social part, he’s nice. You’re nice. He’s funny. You’re funny. If there are any awkward moments, well, just start speaking baseball. But it won’t even get awkward. Because you’ve got this.”
Ollie breathes. I crank the music again.
“It’s just baseball,” Ollie shouts over the music, which confirms it is so not just baseball.
“Keep telling yourself that,” I say. “Admit it. You have a crush on Sawyer.”
“Crush is a strong word.”
“Lust?”
We burst out laughing because it’s true and because Ollie will never admit it, especially since I’ve referred to Sawyer as cute once or twice. We can’t have the same taste in anything, let alone guys. He didn’t talk to me for a week after I discovered he followed my Les Misérables Spotify playlist.
Ollie turns the music back down. “Gramps doesn’t need to know,” he says. “Most days, I don’t even know, and he’ll want to label it and I’m not ready for that.”
“Okay,” I say.
“I mean—I want to figure it out before I tell him. If I do.”
I nod. “Totally.”
“And, Hal? Thank you for saving my ass back there. I don’t know what happened.”
“I do,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
Ollie rolls his eyes but cannot for the life of him wipe the stupid smile off his face.
Neither can I, honestly. I am giddy the entire drive home because I have a job I can be excited about.
A job where I can almost be Kels, for real.
* * *
If I could work at Maple Street Sweets every day, I think I would.
Okay, so it’s only been a week, but I’m so in love.
It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m behind the counter, taking orders and making recommendations along with Sawyer. Our cupcake of the day—vanilla bean with rosemary lilac frosting—sells out by noon. It is a line-out-the-door kind of day and at this rate it’ll be six p.m. before I blink.
Diana Davidson is behind the register and Max, her husband, is in the kitchen checking inventory.
Sawyer’s parents are the coolest. On what I thought would be my first day, I actually just met with Diana for an informal interview over coffee and cupcakes. I started to freak out, but it didn’t take long for my stomach to untangle and my hands to uncurl from fists because Diana gets it—gets me. With the help of the magical red velvet cupcake I consumed, I breezed through our chat. I showed her a few images of my One True Pastry cupcakes—shots that were never posted, of course—and that sealed the deal.
I am guaranteed at least twelve hours a week, I get a key to the shop so I can open on weekends, and best of all, I’m allowed to use the kitchen after hours, so long as it looks pristine when I leave.
The first time I saw the kitchen, I almost passed out it’s so beautiful. All the equipment is state of the art with its convection oven and cooling racks and multiple industrial cake mixers. Seriously, it’s next level.
There’s thankfully not much time for chatting with Sawyer during rush hour, so we spend most of the afternoon on autopilot. There are a lot of people in the small space, but in moments when I start to feel overwhelmed, I inhale the scent of fresh-baked cupcakes and pretend I’m in the kitchen, and everything is okay.
At last, it slows down around five p.m.
“Kitchen duty,” Diana calls and Sawyer groans.
Diana’s Mom Smirk is on fire today. “Halle can help too, after her break. Show her how we clean the mixers.”
“Fine,” Sawyer says, pushing the EMPLOYEES ONLY door to the kitchen open.
I head to the back room for my fifteen and the chance to finally check my phone.
The break room is super basic, with a row of lockers for employees and two circular tables with four plastic pink chairs at each. I spin my combination lock, swing the door open, and reach into my GO AWAY I’M READING tote bag for my phone.