Page 18 of Frosted Fakes

They talked for another hour, Jamie offering tips about everything from the local newspaper's food critic (avoid her) to the best time to put out fresh pastries (early, before the school run). Julia found herself relaxing, the tension in her shoulders slowly unwinding.

"Can I ask you something?" she said finally, when the wine was nearly gone and the restaurant had emptied around them.

"Of course."

"How do you do it? Make it look so easy?" She gestured vaguely at the restaurant, at his calm competence, at the general state of having his life together. "I feel like I'm drowning, and you're just… floating."

Jamie was quiet for a moment. "I've been doing this for eight years," he said. "It didn't look easy at the start. Trust me. There were nights I slept on the floor because I couldn't afford to go home, and days I seriously considered setting the place on fire for the insurance money."

"Really?"

"Really." He smiled. "But don’t you go getting any ideas. It gets better. Or you get better at pretending it's not terrible. Either way, eventually you stop feeling like you're about to die every five minutes."

"That's… oddly comforting."

"I'm an oddly comforting person." He stood up and collected their glasses. "Now go home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow's another day of burning things and terrorizing the local flour supply. Maybe see if Tara wants to come on full time. Or think about hiring another baker while you concentrate on front of house."

Julia groaned but got to her feet. So many ideas. "Thanks, Jamie. For everything."

"Anytime." He paused at the kitchen door. "And Julia? The grumpy one upstairs? Elliott?"

"What about her?"

"She's not as scary as she seems. Give her time."

Julia wasn't sure she believed that, but she nodded anyway.

THE FLAT WAS dark when Julia let herself in, which she took as a good sign. Maybe Elliott had gone to bed early. Maybe she could have a peaceful evening for once, just her and her medical dramas and the uncomfortable couch that was slowly destroying her spine.

She tiptoed through the sitting room, found the lamp, and…

"Do you mind?"

Julia shrieked and spun around. Elliott was sitting in the single comfortable chair, a book in her lap and an irritated expression on her face.

"You scared me!"

"You interrupted my reading."

"You were reading in the dark?"

"I was resting my eyes." Elliott closed the book with a snap. "Some of us have been working all day."

"I've been working all day, too."

"Mmm." Elliott's tone suggested she had serious doubts about Julia's definition of work.

Julia counted to five. It didn't help. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Bathroom's occupied."

"By whom? You're sitting right here."

"My things are in there. I'm in the middle of a skincare routine."

"You can't occupy a bathroom with your things!"

"I can and I have." Elliott picked up her book again. "Wait your turn."