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Jazz bent over to sweep the small pile of debris into the dustpan, and when she stood back up, several bones in her back popped like tiny firecrackers.

It had been two weeks since Bill’s fall.

His level of cantankerousness was through the roof, but she understood that he was miserable.

His lungs were already shot, and the pain of deep breathing exercises to heal his ribs made it worse.

Any range of movement he’d had was even more restricted now, and he already hated the dependence he had on his wife for everything.

The daily routine was Jazz opening the bakery and coffee shop in the morning for the big rush, with Wolf joining her as soon as he could.

Then Wolf went over to the house to sit with Bill while Madge came over to bake whatever needed replenishing and watch the shop while Jazz worked her day job for a few hours using the bakery’s Wi-Fi.

Then Jazz would go back to working the counter until closing at six, and Madge went home to relieve Wolf to give him a few hours of sleep before he had to be at the Attic.

Sometimes, Jazz stayed later to finish baking what Madge started and then work her other job until her eyes wouldn’t stay open.

Mercifully, most of the inventory system she’d created was self-maintaining and only required a tweak or two to keep it up-to-date.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Only a few more hours until closing, but she was wearing down quickly. Thankfully, there was a time limit to all the extra work. At least she hoped so.

She’d messaged Copperpot about her situation and that she would be out of the loop for the foreseeable future.

He’d asked if she needed help and said he’d be glad to ride up to see her.

She politely declined and wondered what he meant by “ride up.” Everyone who was part of the scam-shielders was totally anonymous in name, location, and most of the time, gender.

From some of Copperpot’s messages, she got the impression that particular cohort was male.

Maybe that phrase was just a colloquial saying in Copperpot’s part of the country.

If he was even in the country. She was pretty sure Bomber123 was Canadian.

The door opened, and her sister entered pushing a stroller. Two other small children followed her, clamoring loudly about donuts.

“I want jelly!”

“I want a face one!”

Liz snapped at both of them, “Pipe down or you won’t get anything!” She turned to Jazz. “Come by when you get off work, yeah? I need a break from the kids, and Mom said she’s too busy.”

“Hi, Liz. I’m afraid I can’t. I’m working some serious overtime hours for the next few weeks and maybe longer. Can you get Leo to help you?”

Her sister scoffed as she flopped onto the closest chair, the legs scooting across the floor. “Yeah, right.” The baby woke with a wail at the loud scraping sound. Instead of picking him up, Liz started jerking the stroller back and forth. It didn’t help.

Jazz glanced nervously at the frowning patrons.

There weren’t too many this time of the day, but the ones who did come were looking for a quiet place to have a coffee and get some work done.

Eric Nietz was in his usual spot with his laptop open.

Jennifer Morrans was grading papers on the opposite side of the shop.

Both had their eyes on the disturbances in the form of rambunctious children.

“Listen, Ian and Ivan, if you want donuts, I’ll get them for you, but you have to sit still and be quiet, yeah?” Jazz told her nephews.

Ian climbed up onto the chair next to his mother, and Jazz lifted Ivan into a booster seat. Both of them had enough sense to settle down, and she hoped it stayed that way.

She hurried behind the counter and pulled out three donuts: a jelly, a clown face, and a chocolate glazed.

Two cups of milk and one coffee later, the kids and Liz were content.

The crying stopped when Liz plugged a bottle into the baby’s mouth.

Jazz took over, lifting the infant and cradling him while swaying from side to side despite her protesting back. “Mom and Dad doing okay?” she asked.

“Mom’s pissed about the roof leaking again. The contractor said it needs re-shingled years ago, but she didn’t want to spend money on it. Dad said he’d do another patch job. I told him not to bother, as it won’t hold up any better than the last one.”

Jazz’s lower spine started to seize. She kept up her swaying so little Isaac would fall asleep and maybe she could put the child back into the stroller. “Why won’t they get it done right?”

Liz slurped from the white mug and waved her hand in annoyance. “Too damn cheap. That house will fall apart before they drop a penny on proper upkeep. You coming for Easter dinner next weekend?”

Jazz made the transfer back to the stroller, and thankfully Isaac stayed asleep. “I don’t know.”

Liz frowned. “Mom will freak if you don’t show up. She’s expecting you.”

Jazz arched her back to relieve the pressure on her spine. The bell over the door rang, and she spoke over her shoulder without turning. “Be right with you.” To Liz she asked, “Will Leo be there?”

Liz rolled her eyes as she drained the cup. “No. Stupid jagoff left me again. I don’t know where he’s gone this time. Fucker comes home when the court starts chasing him for child support, then takes off when he’s caught up.”

Jazz didn’t blame Leo much, although she thought he needed to step up as a father to his children.

Ian, the oldest, had a different father, and Liz had never named him.

Jazz was sure it was because her sister didn’t really know exactly who impregnated her when she was just out of high school.

Leo had come into the picture and helped make Ivan and Isaac.

Over the years, Liz—she hated being called Elizabeth—had grown more and more like their mother, bitterly complaining about her lot in life.

Leo hung on as long as he could, but Liz’s constant nagging and demands for more had the potential to wear down a saint.

The fights they got into turned into epic battles.

One such episode recently happened on their parents’ front lawn.

Leo apparently started seeing someone on the side, and when Liz found out, all hell broke loose.

She screamed obscenities at him and threw his stuff out the door.

Leo lost his shit and yelled back about how her never-ending demands, relentless criticisms, and regular put-downs had driven him to this point.

Nothing was ever good enough for her. Not his job.

Not his clothes. Not his plans for the future.

Not his family. Throughout the few years they’d been married, he would leave for a few weeks, then return until Liz chased him off again.

Jazz was afraid this was the last time, as papers had been filed.

She changed the subject before Liz started on her exhaustive list of Leo grievances. “Have you talked to Hugo lately? He got moved to shift manager.”

Liz scoffed. “He makes dog treats, for Chrissakes.”

That pissed Jazz off. “He’s an adult with Down syndrome who’s highly functional and living on his own.

So what if he works at a dog treat bakery and stays in a group home?

He supports himself, and now he’s in charge of other adults living with disabilities who work there.

I think we should be proud of him and happy for him. ”

“He doesn’t want to come home for Easter either. I don’t know whatsamatta with you two. Can’t visit your family once in a while.”

I don’t want to hear about my single state. Hugo doesn’t want to hear about his decision to move out from under Mom’s thumb. We both don’t want to listen to who bitches more, you or Mom . “The group home probably had something going on, and he’s helping with it.”

Ivan spilled his milk on the table and started splashing it around. Liz moved only to lift her coffee mug. “Get me a refill when you fetch a towel, wouldja?”

Taking the mug, Jazz stepped back into a wall and nearly fell.

A large wall.

A large, hard wall.

A large, hard, hot wall.

Wolf grabbed her upper arms and steadied her, holding her back against his front. “I’ll get the towels. You get the refill, yeah?”

“Um… okay.” Jazz froze, unable to move.

Liz’s eyes popped wide as they observed the man standing so close behind her sister. “Is he the reason you’re not coming over for Easter?”

Ian stood up on his chair. “Are you Auntie J’s boyfriend?”

Jazz’s whole body jerked at the child’s innocent question . Just a coworker this week. He’s a friend. “Co-friend.” Dammit!

Ian cocked his head in confusion. “What’s a co-friend?”

Wolf answered as if he was used to translating Jazz-speak. “Friend and coworker. I’m helping out around the bakery until the owners get back on their feet. Now put your butt back in the chair.” He turned to Liz. “Jazz hasn’t told you about Madge and Bill?”

She snorted. “Jazz never tells us anything.” Her eyes turned speculative, and her tone changed as if a switch had been flipped. “How old are you?”

Jazz noted the difference, and so did Wolf by the way his hands tightened on her arms.

“Thirty-six. Let’s get this mess cleaned up, yeah?”

Jazz spurred into movement at Wolf’s growl and pulled away from his grasp. “I’ll get the mop.”

Wolf wiped off the table while Jazz poured another cup of coffee before tackling the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her sister ask Wolf questions as he worked. Even though they were too low to hear, Jazz had a good idea of what they were.

“What do you do for a living?”

“Married?”

“You got kids?”

“You got a house?”

The flirty look on Liz’s face told Jazz her sister might be on the prowl for the next man in her life.

Jazz couldn’t blame her, as Wolf was a top male specimen, handsome and built like a tank.

To Liz, every man was a potential partner, and they were all interested in her.

Jazz had heard her give this particular interview many times, and she wondered if Liz had been as faithful in her marriage as she expected Leo to be.

It bugged the snot out of her that Liz held her husband to one standard while she herself felt free to do whatever.

What was worse? The idea that Liz had an eye on Wolf, the same man Jazz had been secretly crushing on for years.

Whatever answers Wolf gave made Liz frown. He nodded and turned to walk away, facing Jazz at the counter, and his eyes met hers. For a split second, they stared at each other, and then he did something she never thought she’d see.

He rolled them. Actually rolled his eyes about her sister.

Ha! Jazz’s throat quivered with restrained laughter, and she had to bite her lip to keep it from bursting out. The cup overflowed, and she wiped the spill with a rag before returning to the table. “Here ya go. Fresh brewed and hot.”

Liz opened her mouth to vent whatever displeasure she had, but Wolf called from the back kitchen where he’d retreated. “Jazz, I need you back here.”

“Coming.”

She hurried to find Wolf leaning on the work counter with his arms crossed and a wry smile on his face. “You owe me.”

Jazz blinked. “I owe you?”

“Is that a question?”

“Actually, it is. How do I owe you?”

Wolf straightened and put his hands in his pockets. Jazz’s gaze was drawn to the Iron City Knights logo on his black leather cut, a longsword with a rounded handguard through a grinning skull. She’d already memorized their motto: “Through the fires of hell, men of steel are forged . ”

“Your sister is a piece of work. My ex-wife wasn’t that bad.”

Jazz tried to wrap her head around this new information. “You… you were married?”

“Yeah. For about four months. I have no idea where she is now. Long story. Anyway, Liz over there asked everything but my social security number. I told her we were dating as a distraction. She invited me to Easter dinner on your behalf, and I’m to make you go.

Think you can pretend to be my girlfriend for a few hours? ”