The chocolate went molten, the butter sweet and soft, and for a second, I swear I forgot every bad fucking thing I’d been through in my life. If comfort had a taste, it was this.
“Christ,” I mumbled, shoving the rest of the cookie in my mouth.
“Have another,” she said, grabbing three more and placing them on the napkin. “Now I wish I’d made my oatmeal too. And Snickerdoodles. And sugar!”
“You use raisins?”
“Not usually. Though they can be good sometimes.”
“No, they can’t,” I said, getting a twinkling little laugh out of her.
“Hey, Venezio,” she started, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. My damn fingers itched to do the same thing. “Can I ask you a big—”
“Stephy,” Craig called, making a rumble move through me as Stephanie stiffened.
“Yes, Craig?”
“Can I speak to you for a minute?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” she said, sounding conflicted. Then, to me, “Have as many cookies as you want. I have so much dough in my freezer just waiting to get baked off.”
I guess I’d figure out some other time what she was going to ask me.
I watched her walk away as I ate the cookies and looked at the damn colored strands of lights twinkling in the windows.
And for just a fleeting moment, I didn’t feel quite so much like the little kid with his face pressed up against the glass, looking at things I could never have, never experience.
I was right there in it, feeling it, tasting it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, though, dragging me out of that world and back into my real one.
Tonight.
I didn’t need more clarification than that.
There was a truck coming into the charity that night.
And, apparently, I had my first shipment of goods to unload and distribute to the Family.
It wasn’t the first time I had to lie to Stephanie.
This time, though, there was a weird tightening in my gut at the idea of doing it.
My gaze sought her out, and when I found her, her head whipped away.
It meant nothing that she’d been looking at me.
And I couldn’t afford to let myself believe otherwise.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stephanie
I never thought I would get to see a grown man try his first homemade cookie. But I have to admit that while it was heartbreaking to know no one had ever made him cookies before, it wasn’t a memory I would trade for anything. For just a second there, I could have sworn I saw a little piece of his inner child get healed.
Was I kicking myself (and cursing Craig) for missing out on my only chance to ask Venezio to the damn fancy party? Yes.
It would have been the most natural time to just squeeze it into a casual conversation. Now I had to single him out to ask him again. Because if he wasn’t interested, I needed time to find someone else to go with.
