“I already have one. It’s sunup to sundown.”
It seemed as though everything he said only added to her annoyance. “I am aware. But you’re going to have to make time for this.”
Fair enough. “I can free up my evenings on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“Monday, Wednesday, Friday would work better for my schedule.”
His eyes spun in a roll. “O-kay.” He drew out the word with frustration. “Monday, Wednesday, and Friday it is.”
“Good.” She gave a single clipped nod. “Come over to my place at seven tomorrow evening. We can brainstorm and get our ducks in a row and hopefully start the actual build by the end of the week. I’ll make a pitcher of lemonade and some cookies.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay. I’ll be there. Can I bring anything?”
“A good attitude.”
J.P. was about to rally back, but noticed the slight curl of her lips, a hint that her words weren’t all venom and spite, but maybe, just maybe, something sweeter.
Chapter Thirteen
The oven timer dinged sharply from the kitchen. The sugary scent of snickerdoodle cookies wafted through Nora’s farmhouse, stronger than any candle or air freshener spray. She really should set aside time to bake more often. It was something she used to do with her grandmother all the time. They would whip up a new recipe each week, and eat from the pile every day until nothing remained but a few plate crumbs as evidence the cookies were there to begin with.
Grandma Kay always had such a sweet tooth. A whole mouthful of them, really.
She was the reason Nora ever entertained the idea of beekeeping. Honey was a culinary necessity for Grandma, like salt or pepper for any other person. She put it in and on everything. In her coffee. On her oatmeal. Even over her ice cream sundaes.
Nora smiled as she fit her lobster claw oven mitts on and withdrew the perfectly baked cookies from the warm oven. Their edges were golden, their middles puffy and crackled white. She couldn’t wait to sprinkle cinnamon and sugar over them and take a hearty bite while the insides were still gooey.
She edged a thin spatula beneath the first row of cookies and peeled them from the sheet, careful they didn’t crumble as she transferred them to a rack to cool.
A sudden knock rattled the door…and her concentration. She gave a startled jump.
J.P.
He was early. No surprise there. Early to rise. Early to arrive. At least he didn’t have that stereo perched on his shoulder like a character from an eighties movie. She wouldn’t put it past him. He really did like interrupting her with loud, obnoxious music.
After transferring the last cookie, Nora untied her apron and scurried to the door.
J.P. stood on the other side of the threshold, his clasped fist at eye level, readying for another thundering knock. He dropped it.
“Sorry,” he apologized, his features going slack. “I wasn’t sure you heard the first one.”
“I heard it.” She stepped back to allow him entry. “I’m just finishing up in the kitchen.”
She could see his chest lift with a full, deliberate breath. “Wow. Smells amazing in here. You been baking?”
“Just some cookies. Like I said I would.” She could have left off the last part, but the snippy remark came out too quickly. “I hope you like snickerdoodles.”
“I do not discriminate when it comes to cookies. All are fair game.”
He trailed her into the kitchen like a hungry puppy and she got to work setting up a tray they could take with them to the porch. A full jug of fresh-squeezed lemonade, complete with rosemary sprigs for both garnish and flavor, two tall glasses, a handful of dessert napkins, and a small dinner plate with a half dozen cooling cookies.
“Let me.” J.P. came up close and drew the tray from her grasp. Their hands brushed during the exchange, a sensation that lifted the fine hairs along Nora’s arm like she’d run a balloon across her skin. She shuddered.
“Thank you,” she managed to eke out. “I’ll be right out.”
He nodded and retraced his path back to the front door.
Nora needed a moment.
