I smile wide. Baby steps. “Excellent. I’ll come out when they’re ready.”
After rolling out the dough into individual one-inch balls and dipping them in the sugar-free powdered sugar, I put the cookies in the oven and take the world’s fastest shower. Hair dripping and shirt sticking to the length of my back, I hurry downstairs to find one minute left on the clock. The kitchen smells incredible, and I inhale deeply, reveling in one of my favorite parts of baking. Not the mixing, or the crafting, or the taste-testing, but the mouth-watering aromas. Switching on the oven light, I take a peek, sighing in relief when I see the cookies’ perfect crinkled tops.
When the timer beeps, I arm myself with dish towels—I seriously need to buy Mel some proper oven mitts—and remove the cookie trays, setting them to cool on the stove. Before I forget, I snap a photo for my records and set a five-minute timer for cooling.
Once it goes off, I shovel a few cookies onto a plate, grab a bottle of water from the fridge—I roll my eyes when I see the Fiji label—and head outside. The lawn’s nearly finished, so I sit on the front step and watch Parker cut through the only remaining section of overgrown grass. He’s still wearing the same oversized hoodie as the last time I saw him, and I have no idea how he hasn’t suffered heat stroke. Seriously. The kid should be studied because it’s so astounding. Hands hidden in the sleeves and head bent against the sun, he shuts off the mower and shuffles across the driveway toward me.
“Thought you could use this,” I say, passing him the water bottle first. He takes it, tucking it under his left arm as he struggles to open it, and wastes no time downing half its contents.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, gasping.
I shove the plate of cookies at him, a tad bit overeager. “Try one.”
He looks from me to the cookies, then back to me. Tucking the water bottle under his left arm again, he grabs one off the top of the stack, biting into it. He chews for a moment, thoughtful.
“Well?” I ask. He keeps chewing. “Parker, you’re killing me here.”
His mouth twitches up at the corner. “Really good.”
I beam at him, grabbing a cookie for myself. “They are? I haven’t tried one yet.” I take a bite, savoring the flavor, and my eyes widen. I let out a little laugh. “Oh, wow.”
You can’t even tell they’re sugar-free, but I don’t mention that to Parker. In my experience, teenage guys can’t stand the thought of putting anything into their bodies unless it has the potential to rot their insides.
“Here.” I push the plate toward him. “Take a few more.”
“Thanks,” Parker mutters, and I think I see a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Progress.
“Any time, Parker. Seriously.”
Once Parker leaves, I spend the rest of the day lounging by the pool with a book. I haven’t had the guts to go in the water yet because I’m not sure Landon would appreciate it, and every time I look at the glistening surface, I have to fight the sudden urge to dive in with all my clothes on. In the time I’ve been here, I haven’t seen LandonorMel go for a swim yet, though I did see the pool guy come by one day to test the water.
As the day grows later and the sun drops below the canal, my stomach starts to grumble. Closing my book, I head inside to make myself dinner—an egg sandwich made with organic flaxseed toast, two free-range eggs, Swiss cheese, and a ton of ketchup. I’ve just cracked the eggs into the steaming pan when the garage door hums, and it’s not long before Landon enters the kitchen, pausing at the sight of me.
“Hi, how was your day?” I ask cheerily. “Make any cool scientific discoveries?” I backpedal when he doesn’t respond. “Or, sorry. Mel said you did something with science? I’d love to hear more about it.” A muscle in his cheek twitches. He still doesn’t respond. “Anywayyyy,” I say, drawing out the word to quell the awkwardness, “guess what I made.”
Landon stares at me for a beat too long, then eyes the counter with distaste. “A mess?”
I mean, he’s not wrong. I’m not one of those cooks who cleans up as they go or makes sure things are tidy and proper. My dad says I’m like a tornado when I hit the kitchen. IknowI’m a destructive cook, and because of this, I have to spend just as much time cleaning as I do the rest, but I always put things back the way they were before. Honestly,betterthan before. But you have to have faith in the process.
I laugh off Landon’s comment. “I made sugar-free cookies. Chocolate crinkle.” I hurry over to the foil-wrapped plate, peeling back the aluminum. “I felt bad you couldn’t eat the lemon sugar ones.”
Landon stares at the baked goods for a moment, then glances back at me with cold eyes and a hard mouth. “Hmm.”
“Go on,” I urge. “You can barely taste a difference.”
I almost mention that Parker loved them, but think better of it.
“Is there flour in it?” he asks.
My brow creases. “Yeah, why?”
“I’m gluten-intolerant.”
My mouth drops open. “But you said—”
“Make sure you clean this mess up,” he mutters, scowling. “Elena doesn’t clean until Monday, and I refuse to live in filth until then.”
“Landon—”
