Friday evening was quiet, cold, and smelled of woodsmoke from the chimney of the pub two blocks down.
The block festival was tomorrow morning, and the bakery was in a state of utter, glorious chaos.
Ethan stepped through the back kitchen door of The Daily Crumb at seven PM, holding a roll of heavy blue painter's tape and two ratcheting cargo straps he'd taken from his truck.
The kitchen was hot, thick with the smell of toasted butter, yeast, and roasted apples.
Sarah was standing by the massive wooden prep table, her face completely covered in white flour, furiously rolling out pastry dough with a wooden pin that looked like a baseball bat.
"Ethan!" Sarah yelled over the roar of the commercial convection oven. "Thank God! Did you bring the straps?"
"Got 'em right here," Ethan said, holding up the orange webbing. "Where's the portable display case?"
"In the back storage room!" she pointed with her flour-covered elbow. "Maya's trying to get the legs folded down!"
Ethan walked past the heavy steel sinks into the narrow storage room at the back.
Maya was on her knees, wearing an oversized black t-shirt and grey sweatpants that were covered in white flour smudges near the thighs. She was wrestling with a folding aluminum display case that refused to collapse.
"Stupid... cheap... latch!" she grunted, hitting the side of the metal frame with the palm of her hand.
"Need help?" Ethan asked, leaning against the door frame.
Maya looked up, a strand of hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. "This hinge is rusted shut. It won't slide into the locking groove."
Ethan walked over, squatted beside her, and inspected the rusty metal pin holding the leg joint together. "It's not rusted. The safety pin is still engaged."
He reached down, pressed a small brass button near the side bracket, and the aluminum leg collapsed smoothly with a soft click.
Maya sat back on her heels, staring at the folded leg, then looked up at Ethan with an expression of pure annoyance. "I've been hitting that thing for ten minutes."
"You gotta look at how the latch works before you hit it," Ethan said, a small grin tugging at his mouth.
"Shut up, grease monkey," she muttered, though she let out a long, tired breath and leaned her back against the stack of flour sacks behind her. "I've been in this kitchen since five this morning. My arms feel like jelly."
Ethan sat down on an upside-down plastic milk crate across from her, resting his elbows on his knees. "How many pastries did you guys make?"
"Four hundred," she said, closing her eyes. "Croissants, cinnamon rolls, apple tarts, savory scones. If I see another grain of flour after tomorrow, I'm gonna jump in the river."
Ethan looked at her face—she looked exhausted, small dark circles under her eyes, her sweatpants messy—but there was something about the quiet atmosphere of the hot storage room that felt grounding.
"Truck's parked out back," Ethan said softly. "We can load the heavy stuff tonight so we don't have to do it at six AM tomorrow."
Maya opened her eyes, looking at him through the dim light of the single bulb overhead. "Really? You'd do that now?"
"Yeah," Ethan said, standing up and holding out his hand to pull her up. "Gets it out of the way. Plus, then we can get coffee before the sun comes up tomorrow."
Maya looked at his outstretched hand for a second, then reached up and took it. Her hand was warm, slightly dry from the flour, her grip firm despite her fatigue.
He pulled her up easily. She stood close to him for half a second, her forehead almost touching his chest, before stepping back to wipe her hands on her sweatpants.
"Alright," she said, her voice softer than usual. "Let's load the truck."
They spent the next forty-five minutes hauling the aluminum display cases, folding tables, and heavy plastic crates full of paper bags out into the cool night air, securing them in the bed of Ethan's Ford under a heavy grey tarp.
By eight-thirty, everything was strapped down tight.
Ethan stood in the alley, testing the tension on the orange cargo straps with a firm tug. Thrum-thrum.
"Solid," Ethan said. "That's not going anywhere."
Maya was leaning against the side of the truck, her jacket zipped to her chin against the night chill. "Thanks, Ethan. Seriously."
"Don't worry about it," Ethan said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. "See you at six AM?"
"Five-forty-five," she corrected, a tiny, teasing smile appearing on her lips. "Don't be late, grease monkey. I'll have hot coffee waiting."
"I won't be late," Ethan said.
He climbed into the cab of his truck, started the engine, and backed slowly out of the alley, leaving Maya standing under the yellow alley light, waving a small, flour-dusted hand as he turned the corner onto the main street.
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