“Right,” I agreed, “so we have a lot to do,” I said pointedly, catching her eye. “I’ll need extra help.”
“I’m always there for you, girl. You know that.”
It felt like a crème brulee torch fired up in my chest. Oblivious to the smoke pouring out my ears, Coco grabbed the bank deposit bag.
“I’ll let you finish those dishes,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
Fuming, I opened the door which led down to the basement store room and stared into the darkness. I pulled the string that switched on two overhead bulbs, lighting the passage with a yellow glow full of dust motes, before turning back to the supply shelf in the kitchen to count six bags of flour. We’d need at least that many to make all the breads, cookies, and pastries for the Firemen’s Lunch and all our other orders. I grabbed a double
