Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
“Absolutely not!”
“Absolutely yes!”
We glare at each other. I lift my tongs and clack them. “Don’t make me beat you with these.”
Her mouth twitches, and then a giggle erupts from her. It sounds rusty and adorable, as if she never laughs, and my heart flutters with how cute she is. Her nose fucking crinkles when she giggles. I can’t stand it. I grin back at her and clack the tongs again just to hear her laugh even harder.
“Okay, fine, you win. I don’t want to endure death by tongs.” She puts her credits back in her pocket, smiling. “Please, shower me with free pastries.”
“That’s better.” I start to bag up the remainders, glancing over at her as I do. “Everyone was super complimentary about the cookies, by the way. Thank you.”
“It was your idea,” she demurs. “I just tweaked it a bit.”
“Well, I appreciate any and all advice. It didn’t occur to me to ask anyone when I had the idea for the bakery cart. It’s been so long since I had anyone I could bounce ideas off of, you know? Forgot that I’m not an island and all that. So I really am thankful for the assistance. And your soup was great, too.” Wow, and I just apparently decided to blurt out a million things to her.
“Of course,” Ruth-Ann says simply, and I feel like an even bigger dweeb for word-vomiting at her.
It’s silent for a long moment, and I finish bagging the pastries and hand it over to her. It’s too quiet, and she takes the bag and stands there awkwardly for a moment. Then, she gestures over her shoulder. “I guess I should go.”
As she turns away, I desperately search my mind for something to discuss with her and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Pies!”
She turns back to me again, her eyes full of interest. “What?”
“I can’t remember what you said about pies when I was sick.” Am I deliberately thinking up things to talk about to keep her here for a little longer? To let her know how I appreciated her thoughtfulness when I was under the weather? Or just now, when she brought me a warm drink because she was thinking of me?
Ruth-Ann pauses for a moment, considering. “You mean about freezing the butter?”
I snap my fingers. “That’s it! Why in the heck would you freeze the butter?”
She relaxes, taking a step back toward my cart. “Well, so it doesn’t leak out of the folds when you bake it.”
Uh oh. “Um, what folds?”
“You know, when you fold the dough to laminate it?”
I give her a blank look.
Again, she lets out another rusty-sounding giggle. “Okay, okay. Let me walk you through how to make the pastry dough.”
“Please do.” I smile at her and take a sip of the tea and discover maybe I have a little energy after all.
CHAPTER
NINE
Months Later
RUTH-ANN
“You’re not going to tell me what flavor this one is?” I ask Simone as she wraps a cookie in a plas-film napkin and holds it out to me.
Her lips twitch with barely contained amusement. “Nope. It’s a new flavor I’m testing out. I want to know your thoughts.”
Uh oh. I sniff the cookie, my heart fluttering at the way she watches me so eagerly. Her dark eyes are bright with excitement, the wind blowing delicate tendrils of her hair around her face and making her seem even more beautiful than she already is.
I glance over at Pluto. “Is it a trick?”
Pluto just eyes me with disinterest. Classic cat.
For the past few months, my morning routine has changed. Instead of showing up to Simone’s cart to critique everything, I’ve been coming by to bring her a daily cup of hot night tea and to see how her sales are going. I’ve been giving her pointers on her baking, and she’s been making adjustments as she works. Her cookies are a thing of beauty now, perfect little discs with fluffy interiors and just the right amount of crispness to the edges.
The cookie she hands me is lovely, with flecks of green against the dark beige center and browned edges. Sniffing it produces no scent other than honey and a general sort of “cookie” smell, so I take a bite.
And immediately spit it out. The twin flavors of dirt and grass hit my tongue, and I suck down some tea to kill the taste. “Oh my god, that’s awful. Please tell me you haven’t been serving those all day.”
Simone giggles hysterically, clutching her apron to her waist. “You should see your faaaace.”
A prank. Instead of getting mad at it, I laugh and lunge for her, shoving the cookie toward her mouth. “You eat it, then!”
“No! No!” she squeals, scurrying away and trying to bap me with her ever-present tongs. I cling to her, trying to get her to eat her terrible cookie and laughing, because something about Simone’s delight makes me giddy. Pluto sees us playing and tries to join in, putting his front paws on me and nearly knocking me to the ground. It only makes Simone laugh harder.