Page 24 of Frosted Fakes

"It wasn't fire exactly. More like… aggressive smoke."

"Aggressive smoke is just fire's opening act."

Shay snorted. Julia's eyes darted to her, then back to Elliott, a question forming on her face.

"This is Shay," Elliott said shortly. "She's leaving."

"I'm her best friend," Shay added cheerfully. "And I'm absolutely not leaving until I've properly said hello."

"Hi." Julia wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron and extended one toward Shay, then thought better of it. "Sorry. I'm a bit of a mess."

"I can see that. I love it." Shay beamed at her. "So you're the one keeping Elliott on her toes."

"I'm trying not to burn the building down. So far I'm only partially succeeding."

"Progress is progress." Shay shot Elliott a meaningful look. "I'll let you get back to it. Elliott, remember what I said."

"Goodbye, Shay."

"About the thing."

"Goodbye."

Shay laughed and headed for the front door. Elliott watched her go, then turned back to the kitchen. Julia was still standing there, looking sheepish, while Tara quietly arranged pastries in the display case.

And that's when Elliott noticed.

Tara's hair.

Yesterday, it had been shoulder length. Now it was cropped short, almost severe, close to her head. The kind of dramatic change that didn't happen by accident.

"Tara," Elliott said. "Your hair."

Tara's hand went self-consciously to her head. "Oh. Yeah. Just felt like a change."

It wasn't convincing. There was something in Tara's eyes, something uncertain, that suggested this was about more than a new style.

"It looks good," Elliott said carefully.

"Thanks." Tara turned back to the pastries. "I should finish setting up."

Elliott wanted to ask more, wanted to push, but she recognized the walls going up. She'd built enough of her own to know when someone else was constructing theirs.

"Let me know if you need anything," she said instead.

Tara nodded without turning around.

Elliott headed back toward the stairs, then paused. Julia was watching Tara with a thoughtful expression, one that suggested she'd noticed something too.

Before Elliott could turn back, the fire alarm went off again.

"Oh, for heaven’s sake." Julia spun toward the oven, where a tray of something had begun smoking enthusiastically. "I didn't even touch anything this time."

"And yet," Elliott said, "somehow…"

She jabbed the alarm button again and watched Julia scramble to contain the damage. Flour everywhere. Smoke billowing. The distinct smell of burning hanging in the air.

Elliott retreated up the stairs, already planning her afternoon. Cookbook work. Photography. Peaceful solitude away from fire alarms and blonde disasters.