Page 72 of Forbidden to Fall

James set his finished roasting stick aside, then crouched down, busying himself over the cooler again. “Bring your marshmallows over here when you’re ready.”

I obediently made my way to him with my ridiculous-but-perfectly-browned mini marshmallow shishkebab.

“Set it right on top of this,” he instructed. “I’ll close it over the top, then you pull out the stick.” He shifted so that his shadow no longer covered what was in front of him.

He’d sliced a croissant in half and slathered a generous helping of Nutella across the top half.

Toto, we weren’t in Kansas anymore. But I was catching the vision.

I set my marshmallows on the un-Nutella’d half, and he closed the top half over them, pressing firmly. I pulled the stick, which came out with only trace evidence of the marshmallows.

James took the stick from me and handed me the s’more—or whatever you called this concoction—then slid his marshmallows onto his.

I inspected the croissant in my hand, then took a bite.

He did the same a few seconds after, and we chewed, our gazes on each other.

The flaky butteriness of the croissant, the crunch and chew of toasted mallows, and the smooth, hazelnutty chocolate mixed in my mouth.

Once I’d swallowed my first bite, I sat in silence for a few seconds. “You’ve ruined me. The mini marshmallows are a stroke of genius.”

He raised his s’more. “More toasty crunch.”

“The ratio of toastiness to marshmallow was off before, and I hadn’t even realized it. Add in Nutella, which is in a different league than Hershey’s, and the delectableness of a buttery croissant, which doesn’t crumble into a million pieces at the first bite? A true trifecta.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “You really do like marshmallows, don’t you?”

“I love them. I have the palate of a toddler.”

“Guess I do too. But I think we’re in good company.”

I laughed. “Not according to Mrs. Keller. She hates marshmallows. They’re on her blacklist, along with anise and marzipan.”

James shrugged. “I like all three.”

“Me too,” I whisper-hissed. “Don’t tell Mrs. Keller or she might fire me.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

Our gazes held for a few seconds, then James took another bite of his croissant.

I looked at what remained of my special s’more, but specifically at the warm stickiness of the browned mallows.

An idea struck me. Mrs. Keller hated marshmallows and refused to let them anywhere near the products at her bakery. But I loved them—so did a lot of people, like James said—which raised a question: why hadn’t I used them in any of my products?

“What is it?” James asked, watching me through slightly narrowed eyes.

“You gave me an idea.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah. I mean…it might not pan out, but…” My pulse hummed. “I’ve been frustrated with the maple blondies. They feel boring.”

“Sadie—”

“No, really. My assessment, not yours. But I haven’t been able to figure out what they’re missing. Until now.”

James smiled. “Marshmallows?”