Although last year Finn Kelly hadn’t been selling cookies with fancy marbled patterns or adorable fucking penguin faces on them, had he?
And the worst thing about Finn? He was solikeable.He was all smiles and sunshine, and he had an easy manner about him that I envied almost as much as his marbling techniques. True, he hadn’t been all smiles when he’d gone off at me for implying he was willing to cheat, but that was on me. I’d fucked up royally.
When he’d first asked to join me at my table, I’d assumed he was just tolerating me to get a seat in the overcrowded diner. I couldn’t think of any other reason for him to seek out my company. But he’d been pleasant and friendly, and he’d actually laughed when I joked about him being a Flatlander. So when he’d offered to buy me dinner I’d been surprised, but more pleased than I wanted to admit. And it had started out fine.
Except maybe my cheating ex’s betrayal had done more of a number on me than I’d thought, because when Finn had asked what I was making for the competition, instead of taking it for what it was—him making conversation—my immediate reaction had been to assume that he must be angling for secrets.
And then, because I was a fucking idiot, I’d said that shit out loud, in front of half the town. It was probably the dumbest thing I’d ever said to him—dumber even than “I don’t wear flannel.”
Finn was skilled enough that he was thelastperson who’d cheat. And sure, I’d apologized and so had he, and by the time we left the diner it felt like we’d put it behind us. He’d even asked ifI wanted to join him at the markets. But still, guilt nagged at me. When I replayed the speed with which his expression had gone from incredulous to hurt as my words hit home, my face burned with shame.
He’d been genuinely offended that I’d implied he was a cheat.
Heck,Iwas genuinely offended that I’d implied he was a cheat.
Yeah, this was gonna feature in those “remember that one time you really fucked up” reels that my brain liked to show me at 3:00 a.m., wasn’t it?
Dammit. How was it that Finn Kelly had me all tied up in knots? Just the sight of him got my heart racing, and then I got all flustered and said stupid shit, and now he probably thought I was a complete idiot—or worse, that I hated him.
And I didn’t hate Finn. I didn’t think I did, anyway. Fine, his incessant cheerfulness rubbed me the wrong way, and I was maybe a little jealous of the way he’d slotted right into place in the Hollow, and I was definitely annoyed that he was threatening to take my crown. But that wasn’t the same as hating him, was it?
A featherlight touch to the back of my calf had me jumping about a foot in the air, and I turned and glared at Asshole, who swished her tail against my calf once more, probably to see if she could make me jump again. “No. You’ve been fed.”
She mreeped at me and wound her way between my legs in a figure eight. I bent down and picked her up, and she purred her approval as I carried her over to the living area and sat down in the overstuffed armchair. She draped herself across my lap and I ran my fingers through her fur idly, wondering if I was being an asshole about this. “Have I been too hard on Finn Kelly?” I asked.
The cat regarded me steadily for a moment before needle-sharp claws dug into my thigh, which I took to meanyes, idiot.It was humbling to realize that my goddamcathad a better read on this situation than I did.
The next time I saw Finn I’d apologize for my rudeness, explain that I was famously awkward—ask anyone in town, they’d confirm it—and suggest that he ignore about half of what came out of my mouth at any given time. And hopefully he’d understand.
Maybe my apology would go over better if I made him some gingerbread cookies from my secret golden syrup-imbued recipe. I brightened at the thought and tipped Asshole out of my lap. I went into the kitchen, choosing to ignore my Gingerbread Hovel for now. That was a problem for future Cameron.
After checking that I had all the necessary ingredients, I washed my hands and set about making the dough, and as I melted together the butter, brown sugar and syrup over a low heat, calm rolled over me. Once the dough had been mixed, chilled, cut into shapes, and put in the oven, I was feeling pretty Zen about the whole Finn thing. We’d had a misunderstanding, but it wasn’t like we were mortal enemies.
We were rivals for my crown; that was all. And rivalry could be friendly, right? Besides, once I pinpointed the cause of my roof collapse, I’d be back in the game, baby.
I used the time while the gingerbread was baking to whip up a batch of shortbread, and when those were cooking, I made some double chocolate-chip cookie dough. By the time everything was out of the oven, I felt lighter. Baking was the cheapest therapy known to man—after Andrew had cheated on me, everyone at work had gained a few pounds because I’d been bringing in baked goods every other day, but it had helped me keep it together while the entire town dissected my breakup.
I poured myself a glass of red wine and drank it as I set to work decorating the cookies. By the time I was done, the wine bottle was empty, it was after midnight, and my back ached. Thecat had taken to meowing loudly in protest because it was past her bedtime.
But the cookies looked fuckingamazing.
I decided that the packaging could wait until tomorrow and piled them into a couple of plastic containers and put them in the walk-in pantry, well out of Asshole’s reach. I wouldn’t put it past her to find a way to destroy them as revenge for her delayed bedtime.
I took a shower, yawning my way through the whole process, and fell face-first into bed. And when I fell asleep, my dreams featured one very attractive redheaded man with a teasing smile.
I wokeup to the sound of my phone buzzing.
Who the hell was calling this early on a Saturday morning? I reached out blindly and grabbed it, answering it with my eyes still closed. “H’lo?” I rasped.
“Cameron?” Sherri’s voice was far too bright for this time of day. “Are you still coming to set up for the bake sale? Only you said you’d be here at ten and the good spaces are filling up.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and glanced at the time, only to launch out of bed with a panicked, “Fuck!”
It was ten to eleven, and the sale started at noon.
“Cameron? Are you all right?”
“Fine. Tripped over the cat,” I lied. “I’ll see you soon.”
