“Fine. Congratulations on being the reigning croquet champion.”
I take a bow.
She laughs. “Your prize is a—” Her eyes scan the room. “A drink.”
“A drink?” I could think of a better prize.
I’m looking at it right now.
“You are a professional baker, and I am a pro at making a drink.”
I tilt my head. “A pro?”
She shrugs. “You’ll have to find out.” She sashays to a soda counter dividing the dining room and the kitchen.
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I slide onto one of the chrome stools.
“I’m a professional cook too.” The stool hisses as I swivel. “I realize we’ve only baked together, but tomorrow it’s breakfast, lunch, and supper, and Cash Can Cook will be making an appearance.”
“So you’re annoyingly good at both?”
I rest one arm on the polished metal. Crazy, we’ve only known each other for a day. Feels like longer.
“I am.”
She snorts. “And modest too.” She checks the mini fridge, ducking behind the counter, rattling bottles and cans. “You know it is tomorrow. The sunburst clock says so.”
I glance at the wooden face of the clock, and the metal spokes confirm it is past one in the morning. Closer to two.
The base of a fluted soda glass clinks on the counter as she sets it down, drawing my attention back.
“Only one glass?”
Her playful smile is sin dressed as innocence. “I’ll share.”
I bet she will.
The tub of ice cream she fetches from the freezer has frost clinging to the rim.
“Interesting choice for a drink.”
With a cute grin, she scoops ice cream into rounded mounds and plops them in the glass.
I rest both arms on the counter and lace my fingers together. “I’m excited to see what’s next.”
She doesn’t fetch vodka or gin but instead a can of root beer and—
“I’m sorry.” She winces, setting a can of whipped cream on the counter. “It’s all we have down here.”
“I’ll forgive you. This time.”
Her thumb hooks the tab, and the aluminum can flexes before it snaps open.
“Ingredient two.” The fizz fills the space around the ice cream.
She shakes the can, snaps off the lid, and crowns the float with a white spiral. A cherry and two straws finish it off.
“Voila.” She slides the drink across the counter. “A classic root beer float for our time capsule experience.”
