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“Oh. Thanks. That would be great.”
“Honestly, you’re a terrible cook,” Cassia deadpanned.
Adalynn’s mouth dropped open. “I am not!”
“You are. You have to know that. I don’t mind doing it. I
cooked all the time at—well, in Vegas,” Cassia said, her throat
working hard with a swallow. Clearly, she meant before she
was in Vegas, but she didn’t want to talk about that life. It was
obvious that morning, when she’d asked if Adalynn knew who
her father was, then abruptly changed the subject, that she
wanted a yes or no answer and didn’t want to take it any
further than that.
“Those cookies you made were probably the best I’ve ever
tasted,” Adalynn admitted. “I couldn’t beat them if I spent
years practicing.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’d do just fine. You just need practice.”
Cassia’s bright blue eyes settled on the camera in Adalynn’s
hand. “If you still want to show me how to use that and how to
do some editing, you’ll find out firsthand that I’m as bad at it
as you are at cooking. Maybe we can both practice more. I’m
sure they both have a learning curve. You’re just late to the
game.”
“Late to the game?” Adalynn huffed.
“It was a compliment. It’s not a comment about your age.
Who cares about age?”
“Not me,” Adalynn muttered. Had she told Cassia that she’d
been married to a man who was three and a half decades her
senior? Anyway, Cassia had likely already used the internet to
find out.
Cassia didn’t let things get awkward. “Well, now that I
know it’s dinnertime, I’m starved. I’ll raid the fridge and call
