Sitting up, blinking against the darkness, I snag my phone and check the time.
It’s after midnight.
“What the hell?” I whisper, grabbing my T-shirt from the floor and tugging it over my head, padding quietly by Chloe’s room and making my way downstairs.
The kitchen light is on and soft music filters out into the hallway.
Pulse speeding, I move closer…and Finn is standing at the counter wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a faded tank top, spooning dough onto a baking sheet.
She jumps when she sees me.
“Sorry,” she says and quickly turns down the music that’s playing on her phone. “Did I wake you?”
I glance at the mixer, the bowl, the bags of flour and chocolate chips spread across the counter. The ingredients for a complicated cocktail beside them, her glass half-drunk.
“Just my nose.” My stomach rumbles and I smile. “And maybe also my stomach.”
She nibbles at the corner of her mouth. “Let me clean up. I can finish this tomorrow.”
“No,” I say, moving farther into the room. “It’s okay.”
She studies me for a second. “You sure?”
“Sure that I want freshly baked cookies?” I ask lightly. “Um, yes.”
Her eyes hold mine for a few more seconds, then she goes back to measuring out flour. “There are some warm cookies on the rack.” A nod to the shaker. “And another drink if you want it.”
“Sure,” I say, snagging a cookie as she pours me a cocktail. I take a big bite, nearly moan. “Delicious.”
She smiles, but it’s not her normal warm one and something cold slithers through me.
“What are you making now?” I ask into the quiet that falls between us.
“I’m sorry?”
“The chocolate chip cookies are done,” I say softly. “So what’s in the mixer?”
“Snickerdoodles.”
“Your favorite?”
She shrugs. “Cinnamon and sugar. What’s not to like?”
“Nothing, I suppose. But are they your favorite?”
Her eyes come to mine. “Why do you want to know?”
Because I want to know everything about you.
But I don’t say that out loud.
Can’tsay it aloud.
“You know most of my favorites,” I tell her as she continues measuring flour. “It seems only fair for me to know some of yours.”
Hazel eyes coming to mine, holding for several heartbeats. “Yes,” she eventually says. “Snickerdoodles are my favorite.”
I want to know more favorites—her favorite color and movie and TV show and what her dreams are and why she got into making blankets and why the trip she’s planning seems so important.
