"For the boys," she says. "Fresh batch. I used the spices I had on hand."
James goes still.
East grabs one without hesitation, takes a bite, and his face does three things at once. Confusion. Betrayal. Cumin where vanilla should be.
He chews with effort. Swallows. "Maggie. What is this?"
"Cookies." Her smile doesn't waver. "I followed my labels."
Nash picks one up, sniffs it, and sets it back down. "That smells like it's a threat."
Kyle takes a bite, coughs, and keeps eating. "It's not... bad. It's just wrong."
Malachi holds one up, studies it, looks at Maggie. "You did this on purpose."
"I used the ingredients in my kitchen." She folds the dish towel over her shoulder. "If the labels were wrong, that's someone else's problem."
James takes a cookie. Eats the whole thing without flinching. "I deserve this."
"Yes, you do," Maggie says. "Have another."
The women don't touch the tray. Darla smirks into her water. Candace takes a photo. Ruby mouths "legend" at Maggie from across the room.
I'm posted up at the bar, beer in hand, when the door opens.
Sloane walks in. Wearing teal dinosaur scrubs. T. rexes in nurse caps across every inch of fabric. Hair still up from her shift, a stethoscope slung around her neck because she forgot to take it off. Sneakers. No makeup. Twelve hours on her feet, and she still walks in with her chin up.
She looks ridiculous. She looks incredible. My brain shorts out for a full second. She catches me staring and her eyes narrow.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face said it."
"My face is just my face."
"Your face is looking at me the way you look at me when I'm wearing nothing."
"Same energy." I set my beer on the bar and close the distance, hand finding her hip, thumb pressing into the curve above the dinosaur-printed waistband. "You wore them."
"I wore them because you left me no choice. Every set, Knox. Every single one."
"You could have called in sick."
"I don't call in sick."
"You chose commitment."
She steps closer, chin tilted up. "You want to make fun of me, do it to my face."
Dipping my head, I move my mouth near her ear. "I'm not making fun of you. I'm trying not to drag you down the hall."
She stills. Her eyes flick toward the hallway, back. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
She shoves my chest. I don't move. My hand stays on her hip, thumb tracing the seam above the waistband.
