Page 8 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

It’s a bad pun, maybe not even a pun, but it’s cute on her, that and her black skirt and little flat shoes. She looks—sweet. And kind.

The appropriate response would be “Thank you so much. They smell great.”

My mouth goes rogue, just like the rest of my bulky troll behind did when I ran away from home and came here without anything but the clothes on my back and a few necessities.

I blurt, “They have baking classes at Cakes by Claire on Pinecrest Avenue. Oh, and The Pine Loft Coffee Shop is attached to it. It has themed nights a couple of times a month. Speed dating. Bingo.”

Andrea stares at me. “Oh?”

“Because you like to bake.” I glare like it should have been obvious, but the glare is truly directed at myself. Why does this little tiny woman make me open my big, ugly mouth?

And why in the name of everything holy or otherwise did I mention “speed dating”?

“Oh. I... I do like to bake, but I don’t do it much. I’m more of a cook. Chocolate chip cookie dough is my go-to bad mood food. And last night I was in a horrible mood,” she confesses, looking guilty.

“Why?”

“Why?” Andrea looks at me like I have the mental capacity of pond scum. “Well, my cat, for one, and then there was missing the cruise I saved for all year, and my best friends—”

I cut her off. “No. Why did you look like that when you said it? Guilty for having a bad mood? I would have had a bad mood, too. I wouldn’t have baked, either.” I would have uprooted a couple of trees. Thrown a few boulders.

“I... I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to having someone to vent to outside of my cousins and some of my really close friends. My family members are all in high-stress jobs, mainly nursing and medicine. Whenever I would complain when I was little, my mother would list all of the things I could do while her patients at the hospital were learning the things they might never get to do again.”

“When you were a little girl?” I ask, suddenly very angry at Mrs. Flores.

“And a teenager. A college student. Also, we have a rule in my family. ‘If you have time to whine, you have time to refine.’ Meaning if you are caught complaining, you must be bored and not busy enough, so as a kid I would have to go practice my piano, or my debate speech, or whatever.” Andrea suddenly gets that guilty look again. It’s adorable, but it pisses me off. “Sorry. I did this yesterday, too. It’s weird how you get starved for adult conversation when you talk to kids for nine hours a day.”

“I can’t imagine.” I really can’t. I would go for a year without talking to anyone if it weren’t for the fact that humans have silly rules about speaking to one another to say silly things. “Good morning.” Is it? Why? What’s good about it? How are you, they say, and then they don’t listen. But, if you want to work with humans, you have to blend in, at least a little.

“And my cousin Meghan and our best friends, Shane and Danica—they’re all nurses. They have crazy hours that don’t mesh with mine half the time. They work overnight, or twelve-hour shifts, or the weekends on rotations, and don’t even get me started about how often Shane had to be on-call this year because her hospital restructured.”

I wouldn’t dream of it, for many reasons. I nod once to indicate that won’t happen.

“You’re just very easy to talk to. And you’re an adult.” Andrea’s eyes travel from the plate of cookies still in her hands up to my face without flinching, although they widen a little.

That’s normal. Trolls are big, meaty creatures. But the fact that she doesn’t flinch means she probably can’t see how hideous I am compared to the kind of human man who she normally talks to.

Right. Talks to. That means you say something back, you tadpole-brained mudguppy. “Uh. Yep.”

Wonderful. Brilliant, Gordon.

Why doesn’t she leave?

“So... I wouldn’t be into the baking classes, but thanks for telling me. The themed nights... Those sound... Interesting. I might as well do something fun since I’m stuck here, vacation-less. And I have to stay in my apartment until the end of August, anyway, since I have a lease.”

“Okay.” Why do I need to know if she has a lease?

I’m happy she’s going to stay for the summer, I suppose, but that won’t help the kids who’ll have to get another teacher next year, probably a string of substitutes until they find someone who doesn’t notice that something is just a little “off” about this place. It doesn’t help the town, my adopted home, which I owe so much to. If there were just someone I knew, someone really sweet and charming, a really fun, lovable human guy who could make her fall in love with the town—and maybe even with him. That would be something useful.

“Do you know? If they have any coming up, I mean?”

“What?” I ask, feeling like I’m learning a new game that has way too many hidden rules. Firefighters aren’t supposed to interact with people like this at work. Save the day. Leave. That’s all I’m supposed to do.

Now, I’m holding the plate of cookies Andrea just pushed into my arms, and this beautiful woman is smiling up at me with nervous eyes. Probably because I haven’t answered yet, and I keep speaking in one-word sentences. Humans don’t like that sometimes.

“Speed dating? Or something else!”

“Oh! Oh, I don’t know. I don’t buy coffee at The Pine Loft too often. It’s free here in the kitchen.”