Carousel Nights by Amie Denman Page B

fresh yellow and changed all the lightbulbs, they left the sign with the sliding letters and numbers untouched. The posters were in their glass cases. Flyers and ads were printed. But the heavy old marquee still advertised last year’s show. With half of the black letters missing.
    It had to be done, but she needed someone to climb up there. June’s knee was better than ever, but climbing was still not her friend. She wasn’t risking all her progress by standing on a ladder.
    June strolled over to Augusta’s midway bakery, its pink awning adorned with tempting graphics of doughnuts, cookies and cakes. Although the front shutter was still rolled down, she knew Gus would be in there with a few seasonal bakers making doughnuts and icing cookies for the sunny Saturday in early June.
    Opening the employee door at the back of the bakery, June leaned in and looked around. “You in here, Gus?”
    The smell was heaven. Sugar. Grease. More sugar. Temptation .
    Augusta’s voice carried over the growl of the stand mixer. “Over here.” Gus wore her pink apron—the uniform of all her employees. Hair pulled back, a Starlight Point hat on her head, she towered over a mixer, peering into it.
    â€œCookies?” June asked.
    â€œIcing,” Gus said. One spoonful at a time, she added water from a small bowl. “Have to get it just the right consistency or it won’t flow onto the cookies.”
    June leaned on the counter and watched. “I don’t know a thing about baking.”
    â€œI could teach you,” Gus offered, never taking her eyes off the icing.
    â€œWhy? I’ll just eat your cookies. I feel guilty about stealing them, so I don’t eat too many.”
    â€œGood plan. Your brother doesn’t have the same strategy.”
    â€œBut he has testosterone. So he can eat a lot more useless calories than I can. And he can hide the evidence under those business suits. Dance costumes are not so forgiving.”
    â€œMen have it made,” Gus agreed, testing the consistency of her icing by dribbling it from a rubber spatula. “And they’re good for business.”
    June watched her for a moment, tempted to swipe her finger through the icing and lick it off, but Gus had rules about that. Serious rules. Family was not excluded from the prohibition on licking the bowl. Ever.
    â€œIt’s opening day for live shows,” June said.
    â€œI know. I wanted to make a special cookie for you, but it’s hard to come up with the right shape. The star theme seemed too easy, guitars and music notes never really look like what they’re supposed to be, so I gave up on those. I did consider making a cookie shaped like your parade float.”
    â€œBut?”
    Gus drew her eyebrows together and made a face like she’d eaten a lemon. “I didn’t see the float until last night, so there wasn’t enough time. And...it’s not really inspiring as a food shape.”
    â€œYou mean it’s ugly.”
    â€œI think its beauty would be lost in translation to cookie form.”
    â€œYou’re just being nice. You think it’s ugly.”
    â€œNo,” Gus said. “I think it looks like an old truck. You haven’t worked your magic on it yet, but don’t worry. If you put enough dancers around it and turn up the music, no one’s going to care. Besides,” she added matter-of-factly, “people love parades. I hope they line up right in front of my shop and devour cupcakes while they wait.”
    Gus divided the icing into several smaller glass bowls and added color paste to most of them. She deftly blended blue, red and green, leaving the largest bowl white.
    â€œI can’t wait to see your shows.” She looked up from her icing and grinned. “You’ve been knocking yourself out. Feel like you’re ready?”
    June nodded. “I think both shows will be amazing. The musicians and performers are