“Sorry, he’s not. Neither is Mel.” My curiosity gets the better of me, and I lean my hip against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “Can I help you with something? I’m Mel’s sister.”
He shifts awkwardly, brushing his hair out of his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. It falls back almost immediately. “I’m here to pick up my, um, p-paycheck from Landon.”
My brows shoot up in surprise. “You work for Landon?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but the kid’s face turns a deeper shade of red. “I mow the lawn,” he mumbles, almost incoherently.
“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize. Well, you do an incredible job. Best-looking lawn in the neighborhood, by far.”
“Thanks,” he mutters, still unable to meet my eyes.
“I’m not sure when Landon’s coming home. I’m a guest of—” My words are cut off by the sound of the oven timer beeping. “Crap. I have to get that. You should come in and try a lemon cookie. I baked them from scratch, my mother’s old recipe.”
The kid shifts. “No, um, that’s okay. I can come back, uh, later.”
“Seriously, come in. I need someone to taste test.”
I turn, motioning him inside, and he reluctantly follows me to the kitchen. I scour through drawer after drawer but can’t find oven mitts anywhere. Instead, I grab one of the embellished dish towels and remove the tray of cookies, setting them on the stove and nearly burning my arm in the process.
“Shit, that’s hot,” I mumble, before glancing over my shoulder. “They still need a second to cool. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Parker.”
“I’m Violet. So, how long have you been working for Landon?”
“A couple years.”
“What grade are you? Freshman?”
“I’m a sophomore,” he says, and unless I’m mistaken, he’s a little offended.
“I just graduated.”
His eyes widen, briefly scanning over me again. “High school?”
I grin. “Yup. Well, I graduated two years ago, I guess. I’m so happy it’s over. I never really fit in, ya know?” He blinks at me like he doesn’t believe me, and I use the spatula to detach a few cookies. “Alright, let’s try these. I’m too impatient.” I wait for him to move closer, but he stays firmly planted in the doorway as though he’s contemplating an escape. “Come over here. I don’t bite,” I tease, finding his nervousness endearing, especially since most teenage boys are little shits.
He blushes again but makes his way over as I grab a napkin and set a warm cookie on top. I slide it to him across the island, then take one for myself.
“You try first,” I urge. He hesitates before taking a small bite. As he chews, I watch his eyes go wide, and I can’t help but grin at him. I’ve always loved this recipe. “Good?”
He nods, biting off a bigger chunk.
I’m not as timid with my taste tests as Parker, instead stuffing half a cookie in my mouth, temperature be damned. I groan at the flavor, nodding to myself. “My god, you’re so right. That’s good. I haven’t made these in ages, but the zest is the secret, I think. What sets it apart from other lemon cookies. And the fact that they’re more chewy than cakelike. I like my cookies to taste like cookies and my cake to taste like cake. I don’t see the need to mix and match.”
“What the hell is going on?” booms an all-too-familiar voice.
I turn and smile at my sister’s boyfriend, who’s filling the doorway with his tall stature and imposing presence. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear the garage. Want a cookie?”
Landon ignores me, eyes trained on the kid. “Parker. What are you doing here?”
“He came to get his check,” I explain, “and I thought he might want a cookie. Want one, Landon? I baked them from scratch as a thank you to Mel. They were her favorite growing up. Lemon sugar.”
“No,” he snaps.
I somehow manage to mask my surprise at his vehement response. “Oh, that’s fine. They’re not for everyone. Are you more of a chocolate man?”
“I don’t eat sugar.”
