I had to agree. The competition was going to be steep if this was where we were starting. The cookie was still warm and gooey. The chocolate frosting in the middle was bittersweet enough to keep it from tasting like a sugar bomb. There was a little bite of flecked salt on top of each cookie that balanced the chocolate.
It was perfection.
I wanted to go back up to the counter and buy a dozen more, but we had more bakeries to hit.
Willow wiped her fingers and mouth with a napkin, but missed a streak of chocolate on the corner of her lips. I cupped her chin and smoothed my thumb over the spot. I held her gaze as I licked the icing from the pad of my finger.
“What’d you think?” I asked as our eyes stayed locked.
Dark lashes lowered from my eyes to my mouth. “I liked it,” she whispered, tilting her chin up and angling her mouth with mine.
I could feel her short, nervous breaths against my mouth, and dammit—I wanted every single one of them. It took everything in me not to kiss her. “I meant the cookie, Willow,” I murmured, just a hair away from her lips.
Her eyes went wide and her cheeks matched the pink-painted walls. “It was good,” she clipped.
I lifted an eyebrow. “Just good?”
Willow brushed her wavy hair away from her face and grabbed her pencil and scorecard. “It tasted really good. But as far as chocolate chip cookies go, it might have been too much with the frosting.”
Next to the name of the bakery, she wrote a description of the cookie, with a respectable seven out of ten.
I gave it an eight.
The next two bakeries had classic chocolate chip cookies—one with dark chocolate chunks, and the other with mini chocolate chips. They got sixes from both of us.
The fourth bakery put oats and molasses in their chocolate chip cookies. Willow gave it an eight, while I dubbed it worthy of a three.
The fifth had peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. They were thick and soft. Willow and I both gave them eights.
At each stop, I took a picture of her with the cookie, and then one of us together. I hadn’t bothered to take any discreet photos that didn’t show her face to post on my social media accounts.
Frankly, I hadn’t posted anything about the two of us in a while. The comment section was irate about it. The small pieces of my non-curated life that I shared publicly were of my own free will. There was no way in hell that complaints behind anonymous profiles would make me feel the least bit guilty about keeping Willow all to myself.
I had a faint idea that Willow still believed I was in this to prove a point. Adding the grief of losing Shep to that, I had along way to go. I had her in proximity to me, but I didn’t have her.
We made our way across town, skirting the Kansas State University traffic as earlybird students milled about, exploring the campus, and found ourselves at Penelope’s Bakehouse.
It was a hole in the wall joint that mainly offered artisan bread and bagels, but had a respectable selection of sweets. The kid behind the counter—Benicio, according to his name tag—filled a little bag with two small cookies and rang us up at the counter. The bakehouse didn’t have any seating, so we opted for a park bench across the street.
Willow sat down first, giving me a chance to sit close enough that our legs touched. I felt like a kid in school, stealing any chance I could to get the pretty girl I was crushing on to give me the time of day.
I took her picture as she held both cookies in front of her eyes like glasses, and couldn’t help but grin as I checked the photo. When I went in for the picture of the two of us, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. Willow held both cookies and tipped her head onto my shoulder.
I took the picture, but didn’t want to lower my phone. When I did, she would sit up.
So I kissed her head, and took another picture.
I wanted her in every way imaginable. I wanted her grumpy mornings. I wanted her solemn stares as she sat beneath the willow tree. I wanted her bouncing to a song in the driver’s seat as she took us somewhere new. I wanted her warmth pressed against me as we fell asleep every fucking night. I wanted her hair in whatever color she painted it, as long as the vibrancy matched the flames in her soul.
I wanted to be the applause at her back, the hand at her side, and the arms she ran to.
“How do we think this one’s going to rank?” she asked as she tapped her cookie against mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I mumbled, then took a bite.
It looked unassuming. Just a small cookie with average sized chocolate chips.
But the first bite was anything but ordinary.
