Page 12 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)

NOELLE

When I was planning the basement kitchen, storage was my number one priority.

I specifically told my contractor that I wanted more storage space than I could possibly need, and I was sure we’d achieved that.

For the past few months, this kitchen has been a game changer—we keep bulk ingredients, equipment, and packaging down here, and only what we need on hand for the day upstairs.

But I never accounted for trying to squeeze an entire movie production’s worth of extra supplies in here.

For the last couple of days, Shay and I have been using our own ingredients. With everything being so last minute, it took the crewperson tasked with ordering everything a few days to get it all in. Thankfully, between the two of us, we had enough on hand to get started on some more basic stuff.

It’s been nice to actually get to bake again—I spend so much time doing everything else for The Enchanted Bakery, and I’ve found myself looking forward to getting stuck back into a mixing bowl the past couple of days. Today, however, has been the day from hell.

I was supposed to finish up with The Enchanted Bakery at lunchtime, but I ended up spending the whole day working on social media, cleaning the café floor thanks to the raging storm outside, doing admin, and putting out fires (literally).

I didn’t even get the chance to tell Shay in person—I texted her that I’d be late and not to wait around for me.

But when I finally make it downstairs to the basement kitchen, I find her standing in a maze of boxes.

“Holy shit.”

Shay jumps, like she was staring so intently at the boxes that she didn’t hear me come in.

“I know, right? I went home to eat dinner, and when I came back…” She shakes her head, looking wide-eyed at the piles and piles of stuff.

She holds up a stapled bundle of paper. “They left an inventory and a note asking us to check everything.”

So much for baking.

I close the door behind me, blocking out the howling wind.

I almost want to ignore it and suggest we deal with it later, but Shay looks a little flushed, and I remember what she said about being claustrophobic.

Being in the basement with the door closed while it’s stormy must be hard enough, let alone being stuck with no room to move.

“Let’s get this done quickly.” I hold out my hand. “I’ll take the list, you check the boxes,” I suggest, because that seems like it’ll distract her more.

Shay passes me the papers, and we slowly but surely check things off the list. She has a knack for finding things in the sea of boxes that almost impresses me.

“Thirty pounds of semi-sweet chocolate chips—four boxes.”

“Got ’em.”

“Two boxes of white chocolate?”

“They’re here.”

“Ten pounds of shredded coconut, and ten pounds of flakes.”

“Yep.”

“Two dozen cans of pear halves in juice.”

Shay is quiet for so long that I look up from the list. She squints at the boxes, crouching down and rummaging through them.

“I don’t see any cans. Maybe they saw the other cans in the pantry and put them there?”

“I’ll check.”

I hop over a big package of paper towels and dodge boxes on my way to the pantry. Sure enough, there are more supplies. A lot more supplies. I squeeze into the pantry, surrounded on all sides by more stuff.

The curse that spills from my mouth is unintentional, but not unwarranted.

I hear a scuffle, and a moment later, Shay appears in the doorway. “Are you oh—holy shit.”

She stares at the stacks of cans and cartons, open-mouthed.

“Where the hell are we going to put all this?” she asks, and I shrug, because I certainly don’t have the answers.

She must see on my face how close I am to spiraling, because she quickly kneels down and continues, “We can probably stack these all more efficiently to save space. I’ll read out what we have, and you can check them off. ”

“Sure.”

She calls out the can contents and quantities by the door, and I do my job, checking them off while she re-stacks them into slightly more organized piles. She slides them closer together, saving all of an inch of space, but it’s something.

Shay brushes the knees of her jeans. “We should take a coffee break. It’s going to be a long night.”

I agree, dropping the list and pen on top of the nearest box. I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time, not paying attention to Shay as she stands up.

Until I hear a loud clank and an “ouch” as Shay’s toe connects with the wooden wedge that’s holding the door open.

I look up, eyes wide. “Be careful. Don’t let it—”

I’m too late. Shay’s boot must have dislodged the stopper, and the door is too heavy, too fast, for her to grab it in time.

It closes with a loud thunk, plunging us into darkness. My phone and the crack between the door and the uneven stone floor are the only lights.

Shay immediately rushes forward, desperately trying to find the handle. She tugs the door, but I already know it won’t budge.

Shit.

“Noelle.” Her voice is shaky, cracking on the second syllable. “Can you help me, please? I need… Fuck, I need to get out of here. I can’t… Please.”

My heart races, more at Shay’s panic than the enclosed space. I move slowly toward her, trying not to panic her further.

She jumps out of her skin when I place a hand on her shoulder, turning her gently toward me.

“I need you to breathe, Shay. Copy me, okay?”

I take a deep breath, but she’s shaking, and I’m not sure she even hears it.

“I can’t… I can’t breathe. Please, Noelle. Help me open the door.”

I swallow, dreading her reaction to what I have to say. Steeling myself, I squeeze her shoulder. “I’m here, and I’ve got you. But it doesn’t open. We—”

“What?” The word is a high-pitched sob, and Shay’s body lurches, like she’s going to pass out.

I don’t think; I just wrap my arms around her, holding her steady.

“The door is broken. It can only be opened from the outside,” I explain, trying to keep my voice even. If I sound as worried as I feel, that’s only going to make her panic more.

“We’re stuck in here? Oh god.”

She’s crying, and every gasp digs a deeper pit in my stomach.

“I’m going to call someone to come get us out. It’s going to be okay.”

I take her hand and place it directly over my chest so she can feel the rise and fall. It’s clammy, her fingers trembling. It feels like she’s barely holding herself up.

“Try and match your breathing to mine.”

“Okay,” she replies, half-hiccup, half-sob.

I pull out my phone. Since the café and the basement doors are both closed, I’m limited to the people who have keys for The Enchanted Bakery. My parents, Felix, Rora, and Henry. There’s never been a need for any of the staff to have keys, because I live right upstairs.

My parents are staying at Rora’s cabin for a few days, and cell reception is spotty up there.

Felix is closest, so I call him first. It rings out three times.

I grit my teeth as I listen to the start of his voicemail message again—god forbid he answer his phone when I actually need him.

The toy store closed an hour ago, but I try it anyway, to no avail.

Rora and Henry are our last shot.

I try not to let my worry show as I dial. Shay’s breathing is getting more erratic with every call that goes unanswered. I place my hand over hers on my chest, stroking my thumb slowly over the back of her hand.

“Hey. What’s up?”

I could cry as my best friend’s voice sounds down the line. “Hi.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears—too forced, too cheery, too loud in the hushed pantry. And Rora notices right away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shay and I are stuck in the pantry in the basement. Can you come let us out, please?”

Rora whistles. “Shit. I mean, yeah, but we’re in Jackson, so we’ll be an hour and a half at least.” Fuck.

Shay must be able to hear, because she lets out a sob that has me tightening my hold on her.

“Was that Shay? Is she okay?” Rora asks, sounding alarmed.

“Everything’s fine!” I’m not even convincing myself at this point. “Shay’s a little claustrophobic, but she’s doing okay. Aren’t you?” I prompt, squeezing her hand.

“I’m okay,” she says, sounding anything but.

I hear Rora ushering my uncle Henry to start the car. “Did you try Felix?”

“He’s not picking up,” I reply through gritted teeth. “Can you guys drive quickly?”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Rora promises.

I focus on Shay when I hang up, rummaging around in my pocket. I don’t have tissues, but I have a napkin from the samples I was checking this morning. It’ll do.

I’m not sure what possesses me to wipe her cheeks myself, instead of handing it to her, but she presses her face against my hand, like the touch is comforting.

“They’ll be here soon,” I tell her, wiping gently. “You’re doing great.”

“Thank you,” she hiccups. “I’m sorry about this. It hasn’t… It hasn’t been this bad in a while.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

She shakes her head. “I just need to get out of here. I’ve tried so many things over the years—hypnotherapy, medication, meditation, and nothing helps.” Every word is punctuated with a gulp of air.

“Have you always been claustrophobic?”

“Since the accident,” Shay replies, her voice barely louder than a whisper. The accident. Her sister.

I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t need to talk about it, but she continues, “Nico was driving. Georgie was in the front—she always called shotgun, even when we were too old to be doing it. We were going to meet our parents for dinner, and it was stormy, like it is today, but worse. It was windy, and we’d had a lot of bad storms, so the roads were a mess.

Nico’s a great driver, but it happened so quickly, there was nothing he could do.

A rockfall. It would’ve been okay if the barrier at the edge of the road hadn’t been damaged in the storms, but we went over the side and fell down a ravine. Eleven hours, we were trapped there.”

Horror curdles my stomach, but Shay seems to calm down as she talks about it. Her breathing slowly evens out, her fingers still a statue against my chest.

“The car hit front first,” she continues.

“I got so lucky; I wasn’t even knocked unconscious.

But Nico and Georgie were. I can’t explain it, but I knew.

I knew Nico was alive, and I knew Georgie wasn’t.

They said she probably died instantly, but they had no way of knowing for sure.

I did, though. I knew. I felt it. Nico didn’t wake up, and I couldn’t move to get help, so I just screamed until I lost my voice.

He wasn’t conscious, but he swears he heard me—that he remembers me screaming, begging, praying. ”

“How did they find you?” I ask. I think Shay is shaking again, until I realize it’s me.

“A runner spotted the car the next morning. Nico was in a coma for a few days, and I wasn’t as lucky as I thought. I had a tear in my spleen and was slowly bleeding out. If they’d found us even two hours later, I probably would’ve died. But I didn’t.”

The words “Georgie did” are unspoken, but so loud.

“I’m so sorry, Shay.”

She sniffs, and I can’t put into words how much the soft laugh that spills from her calms my pounding heart.

“No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you. Just distracting myself, I guess.”

Her spine tenses, like she suddenly remembers where we are.

“I can distract you,” I say, quickly following it up with, “That sounded a lot more suggestive than I meant it to.”

She huffs a long breath, but at least she’s breathing better. “Will you tell me about your family? How you all ended up obsessed with Christmas?”

“Yeah. I can do that,” I say, holding her tight. She doesn’t seem to mind, and I’m not sure I can let go of her.