“Did you ever have a boyfriend cookie?” she asked out of nowhere.
“Can’t say that I have. Care to tell me more? Is that some sort of proposition?”
“Uh, no. Basically, they’re like a kitchen-sink cookie. They have everything in them—mini candies, chocolate chips, nuts. They’re made to be soft and gooey.”
I gave her a grin. “You had me at soft and gooey.”
“Come on.” She punched my arm.
“Hey, don’t hit the driver.”
“Bev’s mom is going to make them in her bakery. I was just wondering if some farm girl ever made them for you back home.”
“Are you asking if someone loved me enough to bake me cookies?”
“Never mind. I’m being nosy. It’s just you met Robby and were less than impressed. And I look stupid, the way I told you I was holding out for him, and fought with my dad over him.”
She refused to turn her head, staring out the windshield.
Reaching over, I took her hand. “I don’t think you’re stupid. And, yes, I’ve had a few dozen cookies baked for me, but you know what? None of them were boyfriend cookies from the gutsiest, ballsiest, fun-nest—I know that’s not a word, and I’m not some hick—cutest woman I know.”
“I’m cute?”
“How ’bout gorgeous? Sexy?”
She shook her head. “Shush. Remember I grew up with a single dad? Compliments about my looks make me uncomfortable.”
“How about, I bet you have a wicked arm in softball. Does that make you nervous?”
“I do, by the way.”
“Of course.”
“Wait? Did we just enter New Jersey?”
I nodded.
For the rest of the drive, we made casual conversation, talking about our favorite cookies. Me, plain old warm chocolate chip. Emerson, snickerdoodle or peanut butter.
“Where are we?” she finally asked.
“West Milford, New Jersey,” I said, like it was an everyday drive for me.
“Oh, and now what?”
“We’re going to turn right here.” I flipped on the turn signal and drove down a gravel road.
“Sea Manor Kennels? Oh my God, you’re getting a dog. Have you thought this through?”
“I have.”
When we stopped in front of the farmhouse, I rushed around to open the door for Emerson.
The front door opened, and a middle-aged woman came out. “You must be Price. I’m Patty.”
I gave her extended hand a small shake. “That’s me. Yep, I am pumped. Thanks for holding the pup for me until I could get out here this weekend. Things get lonely in my apartment.”
“He’s a doll. Last one of the litter. And you are?” She looked at Emerson, her eyebrow raised, probably because I mentioned being lonely while having a hot-blooded female by my side.
