Page 59 of Honeyfires

"You mentioned it at the station."

"You remembered."

"I pay attention," he said gruffly, pretending this was a completely normal thing to have done and not a profoundly touching one.

"You're on brown butter duty," she said.

"Alright," he said, and rolled up his sleeves.

Jackson arrived wearing an apron he'd brought from home. His own apron, patterned with little flames, which he claimed was ironic and which I was ninety percent certain he just genuinely loved. He took up a position near the mixer and immediately began attempting to be charming at the counter situation, which was complicated by the fact that Vera's apartment was quite small and there were now four large firefighters in it.

"There's not enough counter space," I observed.

"There's enough counter space," Vera said.

"I'm touching Jackson."

"Jackson has been in tighter spots. Jackson, move left."

"I'm at the wall," Jackson reported.

"Good. Stay there."

"I'm being used as a wall," Jackson said, to no one in particular.

"You're finally contributing something," I told him.

"I contribute in many ways—"

"Stay at the wall, Jackson."

Stevens, who had washed his hands and had returned determined to redeem himself, looked at the recipe card Vera had printed for him and frowned. "What's 'fold in gently' mean? Like, literally how gentle?"

"Like you're tucking in a sleeping animal," Vera said.

He stared at her. "A sleeping what?"

"Just—don't overmix. Soft hands."

"I have soft hands."

"Your hands have never been soft in your life," Jackson said. "You came out of the womb with calloused hands, Stevens."

"They're softer than your—"

"Gentlemen," Vera said, with the tone she used on rowdy library patrons, and both of them stopped immediately. She caught my eye across the counter, and her mouth curved. I looked at the ceiling.

She came to stand beside me at my station, dough and a sheet pan in front of me, and demonstrated the ball-rolling motion. Her hand covered mine, adjusting the pressure. "Even. Don't crush it."

"I rappel from helicopters," I said. "I think I can manage a cookie ball."

"Even pressure, Petra."

From across the kitchen, Stevens lost it completely. I gave him a look. He did not stop laughing. He turned to face the wall, which was actually just Jackson, and laughed at him instead.

"He's going to be insufferable about this," I said.

"He's allowed to be delighted," Vera said. "It's his personality." She patted my hand and moved back to her own station, and I stood there with a correctly-pressured cookie ball and no remaining defenses against the feeling currently occupying my entire body.