Cue those smoldering vocals.

Ever since the day we met …

“Hudson, you still out there?” Mom rushes past the door again, a clipboard in her hand and a pen stuck behind her ear.

“Yeah! I mean, no! I … um … third toilet. Got it, Ma.” I stamp out the invisible cig with my standard-issue food service sneaker and hobble back through the doorway, careful not to put too much weight on my left hip, semi-throbbing from this morning’s two-part wipeout. If she sees me limping … no way. My former skating career was Dad’s project, and now that he’s gone, there’s an unwritten, don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy in our apartment: Mom doesn’t ask me to share his dating narratives, and I don’t say anything that implies he was ever around in the first place.

“This joint’s about to get mad crazy.” Dani busts into the ladies’ room as I’m scrubbing toilet germs from my hands. “Carly’s having a meltdown. Girl can’t keep it together for five minutes out there.”

“What happened?”

“She dropped the F-bomb when that big party asked for separate checks, and now we’re comping their whole meal, so of course they all want more food. Their kids made a giant mess, half of them are screaming and eating crayons, and by the way, we’re in the middle of a bacon crisis.” Dani presses her fingers to her temples.

“You check the back freezer?” I ask, wondering how fast I can squeeze my so-called sweet ass out the little window over the first stall.

“We’re totally out.”

I close my eyes and magically transport myself to the rink in my parallel life, cool wind running its fingers through my hair as I pick up speed for a triple salchow. I whip my leg around and launch myself into the air over the ice, the world spinning away beneath me and back up again as I land like a feather on an eggshell.

Look at that landing! Incredible! And that form! Amazing!

Right. I shake off the impossible daydream and come back to reality. “Here’s what we do. Change the specials board to stuff with ham and sausage to get people off bacon. I’ll frost and box a bunch of Cherry Bombs for your big table—that should keep them from ordering off the menu and you can shoo them out before the lunch rush.”

Dani smiles, her shoulders relaxing. “Dude, this place would seriously self-destruct without you.” She reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “And it’s not just your cupcakes. You have—what’s wrong?”

“Cupcakes. I have a big birthday order tomorrow, and I just remembered I have to do two more batches for that stupid careers and hobbies thing in French. What are you doing for it? Photography?”

“Of course.”

“You figure out your final photo project yet?”

“Still thinking about it.” Dani hops up on the vanity counter, legs dangling over the edge. “The theme is passion, so of course everyone’s going for lovey-dovey.”

“Sounds right up your alley.”

“Nah, too predictable. Maybe I should bring in my nude self-portraits for French. Ooh la la! Madame Fromme would die!”

“It would serve her right.” I laugh. “I swear she only gave us that assignment so I’d bring her something from Hurley’s. I should do a plumbing demo instead.”

“That’d go over well.” Dani switches to a falsetto. “‘Mademoiselle Avery, où est les cupcakes? J’ai besoin des cupcakes!’”

“It’s les petit gâteaux. I looked it up.”

“Huh?”

“‘Cupcakes’ in French. Les petit—”

“Girls?” Mom barges into the bathroom, still clutching her clipboard. “I just sat three more tables, and Carly’s hyperventilating in the kitchen. Dani, I need you on the floor. Hud, Mrs. Zelasko called about her cupcakes—she wants to pick them up tonight instead of tomorrow. Can you stay late to finish?”

I reach over my batter-mixing shoulder to tighten my bra strap. I should just move in to this place. Set up a cot in back. Hang my clothes on the rack with the pots and pans. “Why not?”

“Thanks, hon. Oh, there’s a boy at table seventeen asking for you.” She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead. “John something? No, Josh. Josh Black-something. Make it quick, okay?”

The ladies’ room door swishes closed behind her.

Dani smirks as I dig into my apron for some lip gloss and/or a cloak of invisibility. “Interesting development.”

“It’s a diner, Dani. People eat in them sometimes. Not that interesting.” I smear on the gloss and say all this like the inside parts of me haven’t turned into lime Jell-O. The prospect of talking to him was much less intimidating when he was driving away from me. “Maybe he’s just … craving the meat loaf?”

Dani hops off the counter and gives me the once-over. “Craving the meat loaf? Is that what the kids are calling it now?”

“This is really not funny.” I take another look at that window over the first stall, but my ass and I both know we won’t fit. “You have to cover for me.”

“You can’t hide in here all day.”

“I’m not hiding. Just go take his order and distract him while I break for the kitchen.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “All right. But if you’re not out in five, I’ll come out you myself.”

“Grilled cheese and tomato on rye, chocolate shake, and a side of you.” Dani breezes into the kitchen where I’m taking my sweet time boxing up those cupcakes for her big party. “Guess he wasn’t craving the meat loaf after all.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s not here to say stuff to me.”

“Dani—”

“Listen up, sugar smacks,” Trick says. I almost forgot he was here, standing at the other end of the prep counter with a butcher’s knife and his big sonar ears. “Better go talk to him before I do it for you.” He brings the blade down on an unsuspecting carrot with a thwack.

“You two suck, you know that?” I wipe my icing-covered hands on my apron and push through the doors.

“Heyyyy,” I say when I get to his table, clutching a notepad and pen as if his order isn’t already in. As if I’m a waitress. As if I even remember how to write stuff. Anyway.

Josh’s gaze slides up from the bottom of my apron, stopping to rest on my face. He smiles, but it’s different now—muted a little by the harsh lights of the diner.

I scratch a squiggly line onto the notepad. How many times has he seen me skate before today?

“I thought you were trying to escape back there,” he says, and I drop the pen.

“No! I was … um … on break. In the break room. There’s a lounge. Outside. Where we take our breaks. When we’re on break. I mean, we don’t have to go outside, but sometimes we do. Because there’s air out there and I didn’t … um … how are you? Everything okay?”

Where’s Dani with that milk shake? Why can’t that family in the next booth set their table on fire? I crouch down as delicately as I can to retrieve the pen.

“Oh, definitely,” he says. “I just … I feel bad about before. I wanted to check on you.” He rubs his head again, hair still messy and adorable. “No permanent damage, right?”

“Nah.” Just the temporary mental kind, causing my mind to wander dangerously into forbidden crush territory. “I’m totally okay, so enjoy your dinner. I mean lunch. Or … whatever.” I slip the notebook back into the pocket of my icing-smudged apron. I must look like a total freak show. “I’ll go find your waitress.”

“Wait,” he says, lowering his voice. “I wanted to talk to you about something before, but … can I ask a crazy favor?” He looks into his water glass and pokes the ice with a straw, shifting nervously in the booth.

“What’s up?” Need a kidney? Two of them? Where do I sign? I grab my pen again, just in case.

“When I saw you on the ice … you’re really good.” He looks straight at me this time, and the Jell-O formerly known as my bones wobbles. I wonder if he knows how amazing those eyes are. He must. That’s how he casts his magic, bone-wobbling spells on unsuspecting cupcake bakers.