“Strawberry chocolate chip. They’re soft and chewy on the inside with perfectly crisp edges, gooey white chocolate chips, and strawberry cream cheese frosting.”
“That sounds really good.” She licks her lips, and, while I want nothing more than to track the movement like a hawk, I force myself to keep my eyes on hers. “With milk?”
“Obviously.” I take a step back from her. “Go get cozy. I'll get us snacks, and then I'll introduce you to the Upper East Side.”
She shuffles over to the couch, grabbing the throw blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders, while I head into the kitchen for cookies.
I may not know much about comforting an upset woman, but the little I do know, I learned from my mother. And I'd like to think she taught me pretty damn well.
In the kitchen, I plate up a few cookies for each of us before grabbing my best milk cups—stainless-steel tumblers—and filling them to the top. I grab some napkins and head back into the living room, setting the goods on the table in front of us.
“Here we go.” I nudge Scarlet’s glass toward her as I claim the seat next to her.
“They look good.” She reaches for one, breaks off a piece, and pops it into her mouth. “Oh, wow,” she moans, her eyes comically wide.
“I know, right?” I hunch forward, trying to hide her reaction’s effect on me.
“This might be the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
A million and one ill-timed dirty thoughts race through my brain, but I slam a wall up around them, locking them away. Because, holy shit, it is not the time.
“I’m not one to sayI told you so,but?—”
She laughs. “Yes. You so totally are.”
I throw my hands up in mock surrender. “You got me. Now, are you ready to be amazed?”
She looks up at me from beneath her lashes. “I’m ready for you to try. Give it your best shot, Ellis.”
Something about the way she says my name has my toes curling in my socks.What the hell, man? Shake it off.“Challenge accepted.” I grin, grabbing my remote to pull up the right streaming service.
Scarlet gasps as the screen loads.
“What is it? What's wrong?”
“You actually kept it.” The shock in her voice throws me, because what in the hell is she talking about?
She nods toward my lap, and I glance down at the bedazzled universal remote she got me for Christmas when we did Secret Santa. “Oh, yeah. I kept it.” I wiggle the remote her way. “Thegemstones have proven useful. I actually haven't lost it since you gave it to me.”
The first real smile I've seen all night breaks free, and I swear to fucking god, it's like the clouds parting for the sun. It lights up the room. I feel like a goddamn schmuck for thinking it, but I can't come up with a better way to describe it.
“What about the console?” she asks, referring to nifty snack and beverage holder she also got me.
“It’s air drying on the counter. I spilled my coffee in it this morning.”
“Wow.” Her lips kick up in a barely-there grin. “You really do use them.”
“Every day,” I confirm, as I navigate through the different screens and streaming services until I findGossip Girl. I was in the middle of a rewatch, so I have to scroll back to season one. “This shit’s addictive. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As predicted, she's hooked within minutes. I’m talking completely engrossed in the drama unfolding on the screen. But by the second episode, her eyes are starting to droop, and her head’s resting on my shoulder.
“You good?” I ask under my breath.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmurs sleepily. And sure enough, moments later, she's out cold.
I let the show play for a few more minutes before pausing it and grabbing a pillow to slide under her head.
But the second I move, she jerks awake, her face pale and eyes wide with terror. “Please don't leave me,” she cries, clutching my arm to her chest.
