“Holy. Business.”
I take it back. I do give a shit about Polly. I want to make sure I forever have access to these lemon bars.
“If I could, I would marry this lemon bar, Polly.”
Polly cracks a big smile, clearly proud of her product.
Kinley nudges me. “Based on Mac’s dazed expression, I’m grabbing one for myself, one for Mrs. Bridgelock, and half a dozen for the moody musician.”
“You got it, sweetie.”
I bump Kinley’s hip with mine, scowling. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
She pulls a face, then elbows me back. “I’m just funnin’ ya. I know you’re trying.”
Heat flushes my jaw, and I’m unreasonably pleased she’s noticed my efforts.
Polly hands us the bag of treats, and we walk out, not even making it back to the truck before I polish off the first lemon bar. I even let Kinley help me into the truck without complaining, distracted as I am by the second lemon bar.
“I hope one of these days I find someone to look at me the way you look at those lemon bars,” Kinley jokes, cracking herself up as she reverses out of the parking space.
Too bad she’s looking in the rearview mirror as she backs out, or she might have seen exactly that.
She’s better than a lemon bar, you dumb shit.
We head over to Mrs. Bridgelock’s place. It’s an older house that’s been well cared for. Unfortunately, she’s got a gravel driveway, and I have to lean heavily on Kinley again. How she manages that while easily balancing a casserole in her other hand, I’ll never know. With all of the support she’s given me, I’m finally coming around to the fact she’s pretty damn strong.
An older woman with white hair opens the door just as we make it up the stairs.
“Mrs. Bridgelock! How are you?” Kinley asks, releasing me to bring her in for a one-armed hug.
“Aging and on the prowl. How are you?” she answers saucily, eyeballing the casserole in Kinley’s hand.
“I come bearing gifts.”
“I’m not that hungry right now, Kin.”
“No problem. This will freeze up perfectly, and then you can take it from the freezer and put it straight into the oven.”
“What am I supposed to do with an enormous casserole like that?”
Kinley shakes her head and pulls back the foil. “It’s not one big casserole. It’s four smaller casseroles in loaf pans. I’ve got instructions and everything in there for you.”
Mrs. Bridgelock smiles for the first time. “Well, honey, that was real sweet of you. Here’s hoping I live long enough to eat all of these.”
Pulling a small bag from behind her back, Kinley continues, “ I also got you a lemon bar from Caffeine Ivy’s.”
“Now that’s what we’re talking about. Come on in, you two.”
We follow her into the house and sit on the plastic-covered couch. Mrs. Bridgelock comes out with a tin of cookies and places them on one of several floral doilies. In fact, there is not an inch of surface that doesn’t have a flower on it. It’s impressive, really.
Still, we politely choke down a couple of the bone-dry cookies while she enjoys a luscious lemon bar. Whatever, I’m not jealous. I have four more bars in the truck.
Damn, should have brought one in with me.
After a few minutes of conversation, Kinley offers to put the mini casseroles in Mrs. Bridgelock’s freezer, which she appreciates.
As soon as Kinley leaves the room, the sassy old coot turns to me.
