Goldie first looks at Brexley and then at me, in our ready positions. “Wow. Guess I should have knocked first. I forgot y’all might be banging things out. Oh! Coffee!” Then she brushes past Brexley and plucks the mug out of my hand.
She’s wearing pink sweatpants and a long sleeve black tee. As she pours for herself, I notice she is not only wearing last night's makeup, but her curls are thoroughly fucked, like someone ran their hands through them. And only because I’ve come to know her so well, do I notice the familiar bitterness lining her eyes and edges of her mouth. Coupled with her early appearance, I know she’s feeling rough. Goldie comes over regularly, but never before ten am. With our late shifts, she considers any time before then ungodly.
“Is it that guy last night?” I ask.
Her honey brown eyes turn up to meet mine and it’s stamped all over her face. “Why are guys such pricks?”
Her eyes turn glassy even as she tries to blink the wetness away, and I pull her into a hug. Goldie taught me her love language is physical touch, and frankly it’s nice to touch someone who feels safe and doesn’t set me off.
The front door creaks. Brexley is about to make his escape. “I can wait outside.”
Goldie pulls away and runs a hand through her hair. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you are going to be around for any amount of time, there is no hiding the shit show that is my love life.”
I scoop some sugar and extra cream into Goldie’s coffee, then hand it to her. “What happened?”
“Ugh, before we go into it, do you have any of the good stuff left over?” Hope gleams from her eyes.
Brexley finally shuts the door, deciding to stay.
I hold up a finger. “Don’t tell Cinder, but I have one left.”
Goldie pumps her free fist into the air. “Yessss. Can I have it? Because I’m really sad, and life is hard.” She gives me her biggest puppy eyes.
I laugh as I pull out a step stool from my closet so I can reach my top kitchen cabinet where I keep my secret stash. I pull down a plastic container.
Somehow Goldie has managed to break the choking tension between Brexley and me, and I’m grateful. It’s easier to focus on her than the swirling of my own mind right now. He seems far more at ease too.
With the utmost reverence I pass the stash over to Goldie who looks as honored as if I’d handed her a queen’s crown.
“What is it?” Brexley asks, his brows drawn.
Goldie’s eyes widen dramatically as she takes her coffee and cookie over to my couch and settles in. “You don’t know about her Gigi’s cookies?”
I shoot Brexley a warning glance.
“Your grandma sends you cookies?” he asks in a cheeky tone that Goldie completely misses.
“Oh my gawd, her grandma sends Red a tin every month and Cinder and I are like vultures, trying to snag as many as we can. This one is gingerbread and sea salt with caramel, and it’s my absolute favorite.”
“That’s what you said about the last batch,” I say while pouring two more mugs of coffee. I hand Brexley the mug with a cute painted bunny face on it that says “Some Bunny Loves You.” He narrows his eyes at me but sips off the steaming top.
“The last batch was oatmeal butterscotch.. That was also my favorite.”
“And the one before that?” I ask, trying and failing to suppress a smile.
Goldie moans and throws her head back. “Oh fae lords, the peanut butter double fudge cookies.” She lifts her head. “What was the first kind I tried? The ones in the cute little windmill shapes.”
“Oh, those were Dutch cookies called speculaas. They’re kind of half shortbread, half spice cookie.”
“Since you’ve been singing their praises, do I get to try any of it?” Brexley asks Goldie.
She freezes, fingers wrapped around the container. The fear in her eye is downright comical.
Goldie looks to me for help.
I shrug. She’s the one who dug herself into this hole, making such a big deal out of how delicious they are. The silence continues as Goldie hangs herself on it.
Finally, I take mercy on her. “Goldie has done enough sharing for one night, it seems. She gets to keep the whole cookie for herself.”
