Her gaze darts about the room as she chews, chews some more, then eventually swallows with a sharp punch to her chest. She reaches for the chocolate-dipped disaster at the end with ill-fated enthusiasm that fades as the cookie nears her lips.
I stifle a laugh because I actually see fear in her eyes.
At last, Nellie nibbles the chocolate dipped side, shrugs, then takes a bigger bite beyond the glaze. Her lips curl, her face pinches, and she yanks a napkin off the counter in time to spit into it.
Mr. Bruce quietly eases number three back on his plate without so much as a bite.
Nellie looks up at me with wide eyes. "You're doing it. You're panicking. This isn’t you. You know how to make decent gingersnaps for…for crying in a bucket."
I flinch back. “Forwhat?”
“It’s a thing,” Mr. Bruce says.
My shoulders drop. "Iamfreaking out. I don't know what to do."
"You can't use any of these," Mr. Bruce says glumly. "Can't you just tweak an already successful recipe?"
I roll my eyes. "As far as ginger cookies go, that's basically what anyone's doing at this point. I know what it takes to make the best there is, but I want to make it my own."
"Right." Mr. Bruce looks at his watch. "Jinxy’s going to be done in a few minutes."
"I better get going, too," Nellie says. “The date."
“The new guy from the singles group?” I confirm.
She nods. “Wish me luck."
I walk them to the door, thank them for witnessing me at my worst, and spin in place to look at the kitchen. I grab the trash bin and dump every last cookie into it.
Believe it or not, it’s satisfying. I tell myself I'm turning a page. I got the panic out of my system, and now it's time to get back to business.
A vision of Jude and Lisa pricks my mind like a venom-filled fang, setting fire to my insides with a pulsing, throbbing burn. I groan and decide I'll feel better if I take the trash out to the curb.I’ll empty my mental trash at the same time—hit delete on the taunting picture, so I can’t torture myself with it anymore.
I step into my UGGs, shuffle through the dusting of snow to my garbage bin, and toss the bag inside. Buh-buy, hot-mess-me.
My shoulders are lighter as I walk back inside.
There, I tell myself. You can still do this.
And I can. I have an opportunity most people would give anything for. And whether Jude still loves me or not, whether he's deep in a relationship with what's-her-face or they’re mere acquaintances who hung out once at a charity event, it doesn’t make or break me.
I nod, believing it. The follow-up voice takes it a step further.Besides,it says, thatif you wanted a future with him, you should've done something about it when you had the chance.
I pretend that doesn’t sting and set a new bag in my trash bin. Yet just as I tuck it back beneath my sink, my phone lets out a buzz.
Probably a text from Nellie or Mr. Bruce.I know you’re upset right now,I imagine it says,but I’d strongly advise you against eating any of those cookies.
I hurry over to my phone, scan the notification, and see a name that makes me gasp like I've seen a ghost.
Jude:I hear you’ve got one last audition for Get Cooking. Make ‘em melt, Lady G. I know you can.
CHAPTER 4
Idon’t speak. Don’t breathe. Don’t even blink, for fear the sight before me will disappear.
I stare at my phone with a dopey grin for a half-hour straight. I spend another half-hour agonizing over how to reply. I finally settle on something simple.
Me:Thanks, Jude. That means a lot.
