"What is it?"
"Well, I make the very, very, very best chocolate-chip cookies in the whole world. I have a trophy to prove it." I didn't share with Shane that my trophy was from a bake-off competition at summer camp that earned me third place, but he didn't need those confusing details. The bottom line was simple: I made awesome chocolate-chip cookies.
"You do?" Shane asked in awe.
I nodded slowly for emphasis. "And I'm going to bring some of my world-famous chocolate-chip cookies to the Thanksgiving feast tomorrow. You know, in case the pumpkin pie isn't your new favorite."
My promise earned me a big smile from Shane. Something I didn't get from him very often, because sadly, things to smile about were few and far between in his young life.
Which only made this smile that much more precious.
A soak in the tub called to me the moment I stepped inside my apartment. I was exhausted. After my day at the center, a trip to campus to sign the attendance and turn in my paper for the ethics class, a dry-cleaners pickup, a mad dash around the market—jam-packed with last-minute shoppers emptying the store of its turkeys, pies, and cranberries—I was just about ready for bed.
But the warm water combined with the Rockstar energy drink I'd been sipping had thankfully revived me, because I still had some chocolate-chip cookies to bake before I could slip in between the sheets on my bed. I'd promised Shane, and I intended to deliver. Everything had been organized for the meal at the center tomorrow. Food ordered and places set for the droves of people who would show up for a traditional meal they'd never have the means nor inclination to prepare for themselves. When I thought about it too much it depressed me. The least I could do was bring a homemade treat for my little friends. I wondered if Shane and Brenna's mom had ever made cookies for them before they'd fallen on hard times. I knew there had been a husband or father at one point, but certainly didn't know their family history. Young children could only relay so much reliable information, and even then, you had to remember it came filtered through a six-year-old's view of the world. Very different from how an adult would see things. Yeah…depressing.
I finished the last of my drink and hauled myself out of the cooling water. As I reached for a towel to dry off I heard the clink of metal directly above me. I knew that sound.
James.
I could hear him moving around sometimes if I was in a quiet moment at my place like it was right now.
He was exercising in his home gym.
The weights or bars were clacking against each other on whatever piece of equipment he was using. I could also tell if he used the rowing machine, and when he ran on his treadmill. Each had its own distinct sound.
I hadn't seen him since my little meltdown in his car a week ago. Jesus, I'd almost confessed my feelings for him. He had a way of demanding things from me that I couldn't deny. At my core I was a pleaser. I wanted to please him, so when James demanded I tell him what I wanted—there was a really good chance I would've done it. Victoria's spectacularly timed interruption had saved me from embarrassing myself past the point of no return.
God bless Victoria forever and ever.
I can't imagine how James would have reacted if I'd actually gotten the words out. I've loved you for years, and I still do. Ha! He probably would have laughed, patted me on the head, and suggested I lay off the wine.
Or maybe he wouldn't have.
I didn't know, and it was definitely his fault I was confused. He kept sending me mixed signals lately, and I was getting tired of it. Screw him for making me mental.
I dried off to the sounds of him working out a mere twelve feet above me and applied my favorite orange citrus body lotion all over my skin—while trying very hard not to imagine how James might look with no shirt and his hard body glistening with sweat. Not the best distraction-free technique I'll admit. With a sigh, I brushed out my hair and twisted it up into a knot secured with a clip to keep it back while I baked.
Inside my closet, I glanced around until I found exactly what I wanted to put on. I was all about comfort at the moment, so my favorite robe was the easy choice. The floral silk felt divine sliding against my naked skin, which was one of the reasons I loved it so much. The fact it was an exquisite hand-painted work of art was another. My mother had given it to me, and if there was one area where she was really talented, it would be in choosing lovely clothes. The items she chose were usually extraordinarily expensive to boot. A present for my last birthday, I knew my beautiful robe had to have cost a fortune—a luxury I would never buy for myself—but since it had been a gift, I enjoyed it very much.
I was only staying up to bake cookies, and there was nobody to see me, but for some reason I headed back to my room for some underwear. Some little niggling voice told me I should be prepared in case James decided to show up at my door.
Weird.
I didn't know why the thought came to mind, but probably because we were both at home on a night when the others were gone. Caleb wasn't here. He was on the island with Brooke already. He'd called me earlier from her place to say they'd see me at Lucas's on Friday and to get myself to the helipad on Friday morning for my ride. By helicopter, the trip to Blackstone Island was fast. Fifteen minutes total from the top of the BGE building to Lucas's private helipad at his beach house. I'd also noticed Victoria's car wasn't in her parking spot when I'd come home, so I guessed she was away for the night. If for some reason James did drop by, I didn't want to be free-floatin' underneath my shorty robe.
Well, I might want to, but it definitely wouldn't be a good idea.
I spied my dead phone on the bedside table and plugged it in for recharging. Half the time I forgot, and endured regular complaints from my family about my slow response times because of it.
Less than an hour later, I had one batch of cookies cooling and a second baking in the oven as I finished up at the sink. I liked to clean as I went along. And especially tonight, I didn't want a massive mess to deal with after I was done. My recurring yawns pushed me to hurry as I wiped down the counter around the sink. The energy drink from earlier had worn off, and I really needed to get to bed. Tomorrow would start early and end late, and I knew some solid sleep was necessary, or I'd be a cranky zombie for Thanksgiving at the center. I also wanted to package up a few cookies for James and leave them on his doorstep with a note before I left in the morning. A peace offering after the "incident" from last week, especially since we hadn't spoken or seen each other since then.
James was probably avoiding me.
Strangely, his avoidance relieved me rather than hurt my feelings. Denial worked well most of the time, and James's friendship was far too precious to consciously take the risk of destroying it. I suspected he felt the same way. So, we'd both act like nothing had changed between us the next time we saw each other. And things would go along as they had been doing for the last six months.
It wasn't the best situation, but it was how it had to be unless I wanted to ruin a lifelong friendship with a person I loved and cared about. As if on cue, the timer went off. I turned off the timer and opened the oven to check on my cookies. They looked perfect, but the key to having them stay that way was to get them out on time and onto a cooling rack.
I reached for the hot pad where it had been sitting beside the sink and began pulling the cookies out of the oven.
The hot pad protecting my hand went utterly nuclear hot just as I had the cookie sheet halfway between the open oven and the cooling rack. Everything then turned to complete shit.