I want to be furious about being forced to do cardio, but it’s just too funny.

Hands on knees, my heaves of breath emerge as laughs.

“Oh! I’m going to kill him,” I proclaim.

An old woman startles at the mouth of the alleyway.

I give her a crazy eyed look, incredulously extending my chin as though she’s rudely interrupting something.

And she is, really.

This is _my_ breakdown.

The bakery box in her tremulous grip may indicate that she was invited to my grand opening that I escaped a few blocks away, but not this.

“Are - are you alright, sweetie?” She asks warily.

My fog of humor clears slightly before restoring once more as a flour doused pig scuttles past her feet, little grunts punctuating each of its rapid exhales.

I’ve never related to a creature more.

It’s only then that I notice the woman hadn’t escaped unscathed either.

Bits of icing and cake adorn her coat and pepper her hair.

I straighten slightly, guiltily.

“As good as I can be,” I answer her finally.

She smiles.

“I thought it was ‘go out with a bang,’ but you sure came in with one,” she teases.

My laugh is more real this time and less of a shield against crying.

I wish I could recall her name, but I’ve been a bit busy returning to my hometown, inheriting a bakery I hate, and attempting to deflect from my decade old rivalry with my best friend turned bully as soon as we hit high school.

He still knows me well enough to be assured that I never wanted to come back here, much less run my family’s business.

I really could’ve ruined that opening all on my own with my lack of baking skills and definitely without his ‘help.’

Another pig trots past the alleyway, its squeal making the woman startle slightly.

This one has the number 3 painted on him, visible through only a dash of flour sprinkled on his skin.

I’d been out front cutting the ribbon when it happened, but my family’s VIPs hadn’t.

I address the apparently important woman eying me in increasing concern.

“Did you see what happened?”

She chuckles throatily and closes the distance between us. Her needlessly gloved hand reaches out, and I place mine in her palm without thought.

Her grip tightens in the first act of comfort I’ve received in years. It has nothing to do with the matching tightness in my throat, I decide.

That is, until she answers, “It was that Luke boy, of course.”

_Of course, it was. _

Who else would pour four pigs labeled 1, 2, 3, and 5 into the back door of my bakery, as if I’d fall for the prank and spend my days frantically seeking the fourth.

They’re not my main concern.

No, I seriously doubt the pigs caused the big boom that sent everyone running, and if they did, I probably shouldn’t still be wearing the wide smile I can feel in my cheeks as the little demons run free.

“What about the explosion?” I ask the woman.

She shivers slightly, expression pinching in distaste.

“It was like a rocket went off in there!”

My face falls.

_A rocket? _

__

I’m sure that I’m still the only one aware of Luke’s affinity for building and launching model rockets.

It’s not the nerdiness that kept his obsession secret, but the fact that he was so awful at it.

He could’ve seriously hurt someone today!

So, why am I smiling again?

I squeeze the hand still gripping mine.

“Thank you, Mrs. …”

“Parker,” she replies warmly, strangely undeterred by my attitude, ignorance, or explosive barnyard of a bakery. This town is full of freaks, I tell you.

But maybe it’s exactly where I belong, because as I stride out of the alley, and Mrs. Parker calls after me, “Will you be open around the same time tomorrow?”

I’m laughing as I answer over my shoulder, “Ask the pigs!”

They’re the same little guys that lead me right to Luke’s self defense dojo.

The clack of little hooves gather around me as if they’ve been trained to return home like pigeons.

There’s a snort, but there’s no telling whether it’s from them or myself as we come upon their master and mastermind of the disastrous prank.

Luke stands outside his glass walled storefront, all wavy brown hair and innocent dimpled smile that always helped him get away with anything.

Even my stealing heart, back then.

His hands are tucked into the front pockets of his joggers as he rocks back on his heels, apparently eagerly expecting me.

The patrons of his next class shuffle in the door at his back, eying my approach warily, but letting both themselves and the pigs inside without a second thought.

Because _I’m_ the weird one here.

“Heard you had an _explosive_ opening,” Luke jokes before I can speak, revealing his weakness by having the first word he’d previously assured to never give me.

I note the class gathering on the other side of the glass, all familiar faces in a small town like this, not even pretending this altercation isn’t the entertainment of the century.

Nodding to myself as a decision comes to mind, I smile and say, “Yeah, it was a hit.”

Without giving him a moment to process the threat in my response, I bend and launch my shoulder into his midsection like a tackle from the football team’s star defense lineman that he used to be.

Luke lets out a ‘huhhhgg’ noise that has me laughing again as I slightly lift him onto my back before flipping him off my shoulder.

He lands in a heap at my feet.

I glance up into the glass and wink at his horrified class as he groans.

Nudging him slightly with my boot, I tease, “That’ll be bad for business, huh, Lukey.”

“Kill. You,” he wheezes, misusing the restored air that I knocked out of him.

I crouch and boop his nose, speaking as if he hadn’t said anything. “And I didn’t even have to blow anything up to do it.”

He narrows his eyes.

Green with flecks of gold that I spent way too much time wishing would meet my gaze again.

“Don’t act like you care about the bakery,” he rasps, “I was doing you a favor.”

I nod because he’s right.

At least this failure isn’t my fault for once, but is a mess I made.

It worked out perfectly, really, but he has a lot of nerve pretending to care now after all this time.

I slip my fingers into my front pocket and pull out the lipstick there.

A shade that I’d spent weeks searching for in hopes of finding the perfect one to complete my costume of an imposter today.

It uncaps with a pop and then I’m placing it in the middle of his forehead.

He watches me in bewilderment as I draw the number four there.

“I found the last pig. I win,” I tell him as I stand and cap the creamy mauve color that unfortunately looks great with his complexion.

Luke huffs a laugh and reaches up a hand that isn’t just a hand, nor is it a simple plea to help him up.

If I grasp it, it’s agreeing to this tentative truce in a battle that began when he abandoned me.

I decide to return the favor, turning my back and walking away.

His chuckle reaches my ears.

“You’re welcome,” he calls after me.

I’m lucky that he can’t see my restored grin.

Yes, what a mess I’ve made.