On-screen, Jacob appeared, all awkward limbs and unrequited love.
When the timer chimed, I ducked into the kitchen to pull the cookies from the oven, sugary warmth washing over me as I plated a dozen. Candace stayed fixed on the screen, herhand finding a cookie without looking. She tore it open; melted chocolate stretched between the halves before she took a bite.
“This sucks,” she managed around the mouthful, crumbs clinging to her lip.
“Is there anything I can do to make it better?”
She didn’t answer right away. Chocolate smeared her fingertips, and she licked it off absently while Bella made the same terrible choice she always did. I would never understand it. Jacob was solid. Real. Edward watched her sleep with the kind of intensity that should’ve required a restraining order.
After a long pause, Candace spoke through another bite. “You know what would make me feel better?”
I raised a brow, grateful for even the faintest flicker of mischief in her tone. “More sugar?”
“No.” She chewed, thinking. “Something… productive.” Her gaze slid to me, glinting now. “A project.”
“Oh no.” Half laugh, half dread.
“Making you a dating profile,” she said, too lightly. Too fast.
The idea landed like cold water. “I’m sorry—what?”
“Yes.” She reached for my phone. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” She gestured at herself—puffy eyes, smeared mascara, devastation barely contained. “Look at me. My boyfriend is an undiagnosed narcissist and he made me sad. You kind of have to.”
“Candace.” A warning, softened by affection.
“Emma.” This time my name carried more plea than tease. “Please. Humor me.” Her words wobbled at the edges.
Guilt seeped in, slow and heavy. “Fine.” I sighed, tossing her my phone.
“You won’t have to do anything,” she said, fingers already flying. “I’ll handle it. I’ll only ask you questions when I’m missing details.”
“I really don’t want to do this.” My shoulders crept toward my ears.
“It’s too late,” she said, tapping decisively across the screen.
“Too late?” I stared at her. “How—”
“What’s your favorite hobby?” she cut in, all efficiency now.
I grabbed another cookie, pretending to sulk. “Working.”
She gave me a flat look. “I’m putting adventures.”
A crumb caught wrong and sent me coughing, vision blurring. “Adventures?”
“Yeah. It makes you sound exciting.”
“Then they’ll want to take me places.” The whine slipped out before I could stop it. “And do things.”
“That’s the point,” she said, brightness cracking through.
So I let her keep going. Question after question. Favorite music. Favorite book. Deal-breakers. Ideal first date. Dodging where I could, joking where I shouldn’t, giving in whenever her voice faltered. It wasn’t about accuracy; the profile was never leaving the sandbox in my mind. Just a small way of helping her patch herself back together.
An hour later, Candace dropped the phone into her lap, flexing her fingers. “All that’s left is photos.”
