“Party mix—oh! That’s Chex Mix!” Mrs. Weston declared.
Ms. Elly picked up her glasses again so she could peer at the food offering. “Oh my, that actually looks good! Your culinary skills are improving, Jade.”
“Yeah, it came out okay but it’s a little plain because the seasonings didn’t coat the pieces very well.” I put on a smile and held my breath in hope.
“I haven’t had Chex Mix in years!” Mrs. Weston exclaimed.
Mr. Weston, looking very stressed, gave me a strained smile. “It’s very kind of you, Jade. We’ll take two bags and share them with our bridge club for a snack, if you don’t mind. Sound good, Martha?”
Mrs. Weston ignored her husband’s question. “I think I last had Chex Mix in the fall of 1998—at Matilda’s place.”
Ms. Elly dropped her glasses and straightened up. “Matilda Cramer—who lives over on Lake Lane?”
“No, Matilda Dorris—over in Franklin.”
I grinned as I passed two bags of my party mix over to Mr. Weston—who made a pained noise.
“She’s thankful, and excited to start playing cards,” Mr. Weston said. He then stuffed the bags of Party Mix into Mrs. Weston’s handbag, took her hand, and towed her down the hallway.
“You are such a kindhearted dear,” Ms. Elly told me as she side shuffled down the hallway after them. “Maybe next time we can have a good chat. We hope to see you soon—and your friend!” Ms. Elly gave me an expressive eyebrow wriggle before she hurried after her friends, and the trio disappeared down the hallway.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say their exit disappointed me. Oh, I didn’t feel rejected—they were too kind for that, and they’d taken my offering. It was just… discouraging. It felt like no matter how I reached out to the other building residents, they were too busy. Friendly, but their lives were too full to reciprocate.
“I admire their dedication to forms of entertainment,” Connor said.
Well, not all of them.
I fixed my posture before I stuffed the Party Mix back in the backpack. “They take card games very seriously.”
“As they should. When you find a form of entertainment, it’s best to guard it jealously.” Connor chuckled lowly as he put the backpack on again. “So, who next? What other potential targets and/or victims do you have in mind?”
“Since I was focusing on a senior audience, I’m all out,” I said. “I don’t know anyone else in the building who might like the Party Mix.” I tucked one of my red curls behind my ear. “Maybe I should try taking it to work?”
“Leave it in some place werewolves frequent,” Connor advised. “Werewolves will eat anything.”
That was a legitimately good tip, but I felt too loyal to Brody to just let the comment go. “It’s because they burn a lot of calories.”
Connor shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants and strolled towards the nearest staircase. “It’s because they have the same obsession with food as a human’s domesticated canine pet.”
“They’re not that bad,” I protested as I followed behind him.
Connor snorted. “You will not fool me, Jade O’Neil. You work at the Cloisters; you’ve seen enough to know better.”
I mashed my lips together.
Connor stopped at the stairs and motioned for me to go up first. “So, you’ll be taking it in to work?”
“Yeah.” I started up the stairs, initially going fast like I did for exercising until I remembered I was with someone and slowed my pace. “I’ll just have to make sure I leave it where no one recognizes me,” I said.
“Are your cooking skills so poor that you’re infamous not only in your own apartment complex, but in the Cloisters—an immense building that has hundreds of visitors every day?” Connor asked.
“Uhhh,” I tensed up. “Maybe?”
Really, I was just pretty sure that no one would want anything I’d cooked. I could agree with Sunshine that my coworkers had a weird kind of respect for me and that made things occasionally awkward… like bringing in food and then seeing no one eat it. (The vampires I could understand given what I was. But Brody wasn’t that picky, and he’d refused to eat the cookies I’d bought from a store and brought in for my birthday a couple of months ago.)
I couldn’t tell Connor that, so instead I jumped for a new topic of discussion. “Why didn’t you laugh when Mrs. Weston suggested we were dating?”
“Why would I laugh?” Connor asked as we passed an apartment floor and kept heading up.
