She shakes her head. “No, you haven’t. And you still have to ask Jordan for a cookie.”
I laugh. “Nice try, bro.”
“I thought you were the nice one, Ginger,” Reed says. “Maybe Will’s rubbing off on you.”
“She hasn’t called you fuckhead yet, so I guess not,” Willow retorts, making the rest of us laugh.
“Here.” I take a cookie and set the plate down on the table. “Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Reed says, reaching in front of Willow to grab two cookies. She slaps at his hand, and he chuckles.
Ginger goes over to the window to check out my work. I walk over, standing beside her. “What do you think?”
“I love it.”
“Did you have anything specific in mind, or do you want us to do whatever we think?” I ask, looking at her.
She shrugs, her head swiveling as she looks around. “I’m not sure. I thought strands of lights on the front of the hanging shelves might look nice, but I don’t know if it’s possible.”
“If that’s what you want, I can make it happen.”
She turns, her wide green eyes meeting mine. “You can?”
I nod. “Whatever you want.” She has no idea how much I mean those words.
Our gazes remain connected, as if neither of us can look away. I lose myself in her stunning irises. The vivid specks of emerald and gold swirl together in a kaleidoscope of hope and hesitation, like she’s standing on the edge of something she’s not sure she’s allowed to want.It makes me want to make the decision for her, to lead her away to somewhere with no friends or siblings to distract us. I’m fighting the urge to grab her hand when the oven timer goes off in the kitchen.
“I’ll grab them,” she says, already spinning away.
I hesitate for a second, then follow her into the kitchen. She removes the pan from the oven and uses the parchment to slide the bars free, setting them on the counter.
“They look perfect,” I say.
“They’re too hot to cut.”
“Patience seems like a big part of baking. I’d struggle with waiting for things to cool.”
“You get used to it, and on a regular day, I have other things I’m making at the same time, so I’m not standing around with nothing to do.”
“Like now?” I ask.
“Well…” she teases.
“I think I may have to fight off Reed over these.”
She laughs. “I’ll distract him with some gingerbread bars.”
“Maybe I’ll tell him they’re edibles,” I say, snickering.
Her eyes light up with amusement. “Do you think he’d fall for it?”
“Temporarily. If he didn’t feel anything after eating one, he’d know. But I’ll do what’s necessary to keep him from these pumpkin bars.”
“Sounds like you have your work cut out for you,” she says.
We both lean against the counter, listening to the music and the muffled voices from the other room.
“Thank you for doing this,” I say.
