“Oh! Of course, chick stick, that’s cute.” Lauren laughed.
“Could we not tell anyone else about this?” Em asked. “Pretty please.” She looked straight at Barbie. “I’m mostly addressing you.”
“This is girl talk. Cone of silence.” Lauren mimed zipping her lips.
“But that only applies to us,” Barbie said, making a circle motion with her fingertip.
“You’ll notice Barbie is exactly the same as you left her.” Cress pursed her lips and gave Barbie a sly glower. “That’s why we love her. Who else keeps Viagra for their peonies?”
“Hey, it makes them stand up tall, and last longer,” Barbie announced.
Cress and Lauren found this hysterical. Em laughed, too and covered her mouth with her hand because Barbie was being totally serious.
Barbie pushed her hands on her hips. “I’m not kidding. It works.”
“She’s not wrong,” Lauren announced. “But it’s fun watching her defend it.”
“Haha,” Barbie said. “Listen, I think we need to have another one of our special Tupperware parties for Em.” Barbie said this like they’d done this before.
“I’m in,” Cress said.
Em shook her head. “No. And also…what?!”
“Lauren hosted one of those parties last year and it was a hoot and a half,” Barbie said.
“Hey, Em,” Lauren said, holding up her index and middle fingers straight up. “Why can’t you get yourself off with these two fingers?”
Now it was Em’s turn to do the heavy blinking thing. Except her eyelashes were not as long as Barbie’s, had no mascara on them, and therefore the effect was probably not the same.
“I have zero idea,” Em said.
“Because they’re mine.” Lauren cackled.
Cress and Barbie both broke into hysterics again. Full on, bent over, laughing.
“Is this what it’s going to be like now that I’m home?” Em asked, totally dumbfounded because nothing had changed with these women.
“Nope.” Barbie popped thepat the end. “This is how it’s been for ages. But you are back, so you’re included. I promise, Em, coming back to Denver is the best thing you’ve done. Just watch.”
Chapter Five
ETHAN
The pulseof jazz music played through the in-ceiling kitchen speakers, and Ethan was in his zone. His body felt lighter, and the worries of the world didn’t matter when he was here in his happy place—the kitchen. The room where things made sense. Where science and chemistry could guarantee an outcome, but it was the art that ensured the outcome was brilliant.
Uh-huh, the one place he could rely on things to fall into place was the kitchen.
The timer on the oven beeped. One handed, he grabbed a gray kitchen towel and pulled the Mediterranean chicken off the rack and moved it to the stovetop. Grabbing a sample spoon and blowing at the concoction, he gave a quick taste.
Perfection.
Chicken, pesto, kalamata, a dash of spice but not too much, all served on a bed of spring greens with a touch of vinegar in the dressing. A little punch to the taste buds to complement the pesto.
Ethan let the flavors meld on his tongue, swirl together in a symphony of delicious savory promise. He moaned because this was the stuff that made Michelin stars and he wanted others to experience the concoction, too. Live for the flavors like he did.
Call him whatever you like, but Ethan loved food, and that chicken was excellent.
He moved to the sink to drop the spoon, spiking the hand towel on the counter because he’d just scored a major goal with this dish.
