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Thick puffs of black smoke blanketed the kitchen ceiling like rolling storm clouds. The smoke detectors blared for two seconds before the sprinklers burst.

"Ahh!" Morgan and I shrieked under the hissing sprays. She grabbed a baking tray, held it over her head, and handed me another.

Tap-tap-tap pelted it under a whitewashed downpour.

"Hugo, the power!" I screamed, rushed to the utility wall, and shut off our indoor shower. The lights blinked off, and residual trickling sounds followed, including from where I lowered my tray against the side of my leg.

Morgan lowered hers and set it in the sink. "I'm not even surprised that happened."

What happened? Damage inspection put a pit in my stomach, but like the water soaking my clothes behind my apron, today's incident was just another shovel onto the shitpile my life had become.

"Me too," I said, my voice straining under the pressure of wanting to cry and collapse onto the floor. "We're cursed. There's no other explanation."

Two months ago, a plumbing pipe burst from a sidewalk tree's roots—the only tree in the parking lot, since we were at the end of the storefronts. Insurance covered the damage, but our permit renewal required more interior upgrades.

Then, our ten-year-old oven died. I sold it to Sal's Junkyard for scrap metal. The new one required an electrical upgrade, leading to...this mess.

Hugo's apologetic smile greeted me at the breaker box. Water matted his black curls, and his blue electrician shirt soaked into his dad-bod.

I braced my shoulder against the wall. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry, Paige." He shone a flashlight onto our now charred circuits. "Chain reaction. Total replacement."

My stomach plummeted at total. "How?"

I didn't understand. He'd replaced all the breakers for the new oven. The box expelling smoke signals wasn't what my frayed nerves needed.

Hugo's answer was lifting a burnt, hand-sized carcass by its tail. "Sorry, I scared it when I opened the panel and it bit the main line."

"Ohmygod." Morgan gagged and grabbed my arm. "That's gross."

"Shit." I knew the exterminator was too good of a deal. Friend of a friend was the norm around here, but it wasn't always the best endorsement. "How much?"

Avoiding my gaze, he wrapped the crispy critter in a waste bag. "Two thousand."

I closed my eyes. Two thousand. Not good, but not terrible.

"For the breaker." When I opened my eyes, Hugo's apologetic smile had faded. "If the damage goes past the sidewalk, us breaking open the walls and replacing the old lines, we're talking more like twenty. Three weeks, once we get you on the schedule."

Twenty grand and closed for three weeks, plus whatever time to set up the work and at least a day to put stuff back in order.

An unattractive sound strangled itself in my throat. "Excuse me."

I entered the freezer, shut the door, and screamed hot vibrations into my hands. How could I get twenty grand while closing for a month? Sell roadside cupcakes? Moonlight cookie sales in the gas station's parking lot?

Surrounded by blackness, the chilled air pierced icy needles into my wet skin. Hot tears burned my eyes. Why was everything so hard?

My tears chilled as they rolled over my cheeks. Each recalled disaster was a slap in the face. Hugo's pro-bono labor was a lifesaver, but if the problem included the edge of the property—

The door opened, and light beamed in through its crack. "Paigey?" Morgan called. "I called—Hey, don't cry. At least the plumbing still works?"

"Small victories." I wiped my eyes. Not having a sprinkler in the freezer was probably also not code, but it was a blessing I'd take. "The freezer's also untouched."

"No one else was here. And just a couple of orders got damaged."

She was right. Stretching for positivity, but right. Before Hugo's arrival, we'd covered the rising and resting orders with plastic wrap. Today, we were closed for delivery prep. Most orders were already in the freezer, and complimentary showers weren't on our menu.

"The cake is painful to look at though."

The defeat in her voice mirrored my sagging shoulders. Her flashlight revealed six hours of effort ruined. Violet and Gabe's four-tier wedding cake on the prep table was a ruined pile of soggy mush. Previously perfect black and purple roses bled gothic tears over white lumps.

We still had two days, but it was a sunk cost of time and money.

"Some of our dry ingredients are soaked." Her flashlight beam shone on piles of giant, soggy bags. Lost perishable inventory wasn't the only issue. The packaging boxes alone were two thousand. "How do we make a new cake without flour?"

"Good question." I couldn't pick up cassava flour at the grocery store, and our next inventory shipment wasn't due for three more days.

Think, think, I prodded my brain, but a vibrating bowling ball sat in my skull.

"Safety first. We don't want mold growing, so let's toss everything wet." The fatigue in my knees made me feel like I'd gained thirty pounds. "The layers for Christina's baptism cake are in the freezer, so let's restart with them."

She nodded at the temporary solution. The church cake would need remaking, but thankfully, we could soak its vanilla layers in elderberry and call it close enough. Vi cared about having a cake, not the cake of her dreams.

The bride might understand if it wasn't as fancy, but I already knew I'd never forgive myself. My best friend—the only friend in my life anymore—getting married was the biggest deal in town. The mayor was coming because he was the groom.

"Of all people, I never thought she'd marry the mayor."

I'd never thought she would've gotten married period, especially to a man because she hadn't dated one since high school, but I'd long given up voicing my opinion on Vi's life choices. She'd carved out her niche here in Scotts Valley, and despite marrying a politician, I couldn't be happier for her.

"Hugo's got a generator, but we have to remove the water first." Knowing we couldn't go without a fridge, oven, and a surge protector extension, he always brought one. "Take inventory as you go."

We worked in tandem silence, wiping surfaces and mopping the terracotta floors. While she lugged the mop bucket outside and watered the tree, I cringed at the disclaimer on our menu board. The chalk lettering cried as much as Vi's trashed cake:

Here at Margie's, we do not, and shall not, serve six- or eight-legged friends in any of our recipes.

I wiped away the words. Hopefully, eighteen months after competing in the stupidest cash lifeline my sister had ever signed us up for was enough for the interest to die.

Or, interest would die if the network stopped rerunning the most humiliating moment of my life.

I was fucked before Guilherme Empanado's gleaming eyes and flourished hand revealed the ingredient that Deb, the other final competitor, prayed I'd get.

It went down the cricket hill from there, and the firing squad was brutal.

Miranda spat into her napkin. "This is the most unappealing thing I've ever put in my mouth."

"The fact I'm eating this in the final round?" Gregory made a sickened face. "Unacceptable."

"I wouldn't feed this to my dog." Savannah gagged.

Sweating, I wanted to tell all three judges to eat a dick but couldn't disagree. Crickets were the most unappealing ingredient I'd ever heard of.

"Did you taste these cupcakes, Paige?"

Hell, no. To this day, I still wouldn't have tasted them.

"You could have retained only the abdomens, toasted them in cinnamon and paprika, and given them a nice surprise of crunch. It's a bit mushy."

"For the final round, Paige...We expected more."

I blinked away the awful memory and sighed. So had I.

Coming up an embarrassing runner-up didn't end with returning home empty-handed. My demise earned me the undistinguished honor of penniless runner-up and reality television fodder for the country's amusement. We lost money by keeping the bakery closed for six weeks during filming.

"Never again."

Everything up front was soaked. The mounting damage ate me from the inside. Would the register turn back on?

"Good news!" Morgan yelled from the office. "Nothing's wet in here. Uhh, except me."

I stepped into the doorway when the back door flung open.

"Scotts Valley volunteer fire," a loud male voice bellowed, followed by pounding football. "Saw the power's out. Everyone all right in here?"

Marcus' voice, going by Morgan's happy smile. "He's here! How do I look?" she asked.

Her blonde hair looked as stringy as mine felt, black mascara smudged under her eyes, and her black lace bra and white shirt didn't hide her nipple points. "Like a wet T-shirt contest loser."

"Perfect." She bounded to the door.

"For what it's worth?" Hugo laughed from where he set unwound a leaf blower cord. "I think they're cute together."

Everybody did. An incessant flirt, my baby sister had no patience for an actual relationship. In the front lobby, she gazed adoringly at the tall, tanned fireman of her current dreams, touching his chest and batting her lashes. "You're my plus-one for Saturday, right?"

Marcus cupped her cheeks, making my sister melt and lean her hip against the counter. "I'm on call, baby girl, but I'll stop by for you."

Something about the guy made me suspicious. He was seen leaving the local bar with another girl before his truck's first visit here introduced him and Morgan.

But she was an adult. A nineteen-year-old baby adult...who cycled through boys faster than I changed my bra.

Hours of cleaning and restoration left my mind and body numb. Hugo submitted the city permits for busting the sidewalk, which would be an improvement over its cracked and uneven state. Morgan's crush proved helpful, as his volunteer truck team hoisted our soaked items into the trash out back and installed a temporary, rechargeable battery-operated alarm.

Catching the fireman making out with my baby sister in the freezer, I could've lived without. Reminding him that her flavor the week changed faster than the bakery's was on my tongue when I shut the door and rolled my eyes.

Two hours after waving goodbye to our helpers, inside a much drier version of the bakery, we stood over a revised wedding cake.

"Last one." Morgan placed the last rose and wiped her forehead, leaving a streak of purple over her right eyebrow.

I piped the accent leaves and stepped back. Not as pristine as the previous one, but this cake was done. "Beautiful...enough. Let's get it into your make-out freezer."

We grunted and co-waddled, carrying the cake past the humming generator and into the freezer. After cleaning up, I sat at a lobby table and stared at the financial reports pile as if a twenty-thousand-dollar miracle would pop out.

"Any luck?" She sat across from me, cupped her chin, and gazed at the papers.

Luck. Of course, she put her faith in luck. She wasn't the one at risk for early ulcers.

I didn't look up from the sea of red. "Unless you're not particularly attached to one of your kidneys, we need a second loan."

"Too bad our blood and plasma are shit," she muttered.

"I wouldn't wish our issues on anyone."

We'd paid for her insulin and monitor for the next two months, but I was a month away from needing my next injection. Which reminded me—

"Unless you have anything helpful, sit there and look pretty. Or, contact the foundation for me, please."

Thanks to modern science and the kindness of anonymous donors, my psoriasis only flared up when I was severely stressed. As much as I hated relying on charity assistance, biologics proved to be the exact treatment I needed. I'd only taken them for a year, but my breakouts were severely reduced within the first three months.

"Okay." She pulled out her phone and grimaced. "I'll ask Dr. Torres for OT. Christina's been complaining about standing on her feet too much."

"Wonder why." I pressed my tongue behind my teeth to avoid saying anything further. At thirty weeks pregnant with twins, I didn't know how the woman was still working. "Any extra hours you can pick up will help."

While Marcus' tongue was licking my sister's tonsils, her boss had gotten a security alert about the cut power and stopped by. Concern was more than she approached me with.

"You let me know, Paige." She gave me a tight smile. "The offer stands indefinitely."

"I will," I lied. "Thank you. Again, so sorry about the power."

I'd rather sell my car or beg Hugo for an interest-free repayment plan before selling out. The memories hanging on these walls deserved every ounce of fight in me.

"You know..." I didn't like Morgan's suggestive voice or the glimmer in her eyes. "We could always ask Bro—"

"No." I had a better chance of finding a miracle in our financial swamp than reaching him. "I don't have his number anymore, but if I did, no."

Without looking up, I felt the sass monster's eye-roll.

"Paige." She huffed. "What's the use of having a three-hundred-million-dollar crush if you can't—"

"Take advantage of him? Exploit his money? Cry on his shoulder?" The bitterness arising whenever Brody came up sharpened my hypothetical questions into insults. Tears blurred the messy numbers. My numbers, my reality, my problem. "No."

"But, he—"

"No." As many times as I'd refused his help, asking would be humiliating. "He's gone, and I don't want to talk about him."

I gathered the papers, finding no comfort in Dad's office. Windowless and suffocatingly tight, it was the one room we'd never changed, and I felt the weight of his and Mom's eyes from their picture.

"Ask Brody."

I couldn't even speak to him, let alone ask for money. What was she thinking? She wasn't.

Thinking further ahead than right now and worrying about the future was me. My constant headaches were marketing, paying bills, and keeping the ovens on.

My flighty, delusional sister would never understand. Getting over a first crush was hard enough, but at one time, Brody was it for me.

Sixteen-hour days made dating pointless, but no one measured up. Sincere, funny, and considerate, he was everything until he chose to become nothing.

I closed my eyes. This was my pain talking, not the truth. The truth kept me from looking at myself in a mirror, let alone admitting it to anyone else.

As much as I wanted to blame time and distance for our relationship crumbling, or pit Brody's good fortunes against my misfortunes, life diverted us as much as it cursed me. We'd made our choices, mine first, but Brody's didn't include me.

"We'll make it work. We have to."

God, we were so naïve. After his mom moved, Brody had no reason to return here, compounding our relationship into...nothingness.

Crappy, bitter, nothingness.