He’d figure out what to do with that revelation later. Later, when he was alone with his…sausage.
“Oh, you thought I meant…” Gavin glanced at his lap. “No. Nope. Wouldn’t serve that unless it’s specifically requested. I meant my famous Cajun chicken sausage with rice and creole-style beans.”
Molly blinked hard at him.
“What will you be serving me, Molly? I’m a big fan of dessert.” God help him, he was.
“I just bet you are.” She shook her head. “But we’d eat dinner first. I’d let you choose between my ever-so-famous bacon-wrapped chicken breasts or some deliciously prepared buttered thighs. Would you have a preference?”
“What if I don’t enjoy poultry?” he asked, totally taking a page from her book.
“Then I guess I could make you some cinnamon rolls. Those are both dessert and a meal.”
“Multi-purpose is a good thing in the kitchen.” Wow, he could really do the innuendo thing. He hadn’t known that about himself before just then.
But this was Molly and, apparently, when they were working together, they had enough fun that they didn’t even hate each other a little.
“I’ve been known to add just a dash of cayenne to my cinnamon roll recipe.” Molly did a shimmy shake that made him anxious to try her cayenne.
“Sounds spicy,” he said.
“It only burns a little. Totally normal. Nothing you’d need to see your doctor about.”
“A unique flavor combination,” Gavin said, unwilling to give up this round to her. “I bet they are moist and delicious.”
They probably should’ve stopped there. It wasn’t like they were actually doing what they’d been brought on to do. Which was, to clarify, to talk about Charlie and Agnes.
They should’ve stopped the camera, submitted the video for consideration, and let it be.
They didn’t.
“Oh my gosh, no. You cannot say that word on my show.” Molly shivered.
Which word did she mean?
“Flavor or combination?” he asked.
“Neither.” She sounded like she’d eaten a cayenne cinnamon roll. “Blah. The M-word.”
“Mom?” Now he was lost on their verbal meander.
“Mois—” She ended with a headshake. “I can’t say it. Don’t you say it either.” She poked him in the chest.
“Okay.” He nodded. “But then you can’t say the D-word. I hate that word.”
“Uh.” Molly choked a little.
“What word are you thinking?” he asked, feigning innocence.
Persona-Molly laugh-snorted. “Uh. Well. What word areyoumeaning?”
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She nodded vehemently.
“Dripping.” He shivered. “Hate that word. It means things are about to get sticky or dirty.”
“You don’t like dirty drip—”
