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“Well, I grew up with my mom making me these really wonderful cookies. They were melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Soft, but not too sweet—unless you put frosting on them, which I always did.” He smiled at the memory. “But I can never get the cookies I make to turn out the same way. I always get the crunchy kind that resemble crackers more than they do cookies.”
She looked down at the dough she rolled out, then back up to him. “Come over here.”
He straightened and hovered where he was for a few moments before moving around the counter and standing beside her. Her perfume was overtaken by the scent of flour, sugar, and a faint hint of almond. Without giving him any warning, she grasped his wrist and brought it to the ball of cookie dough that sat in the mixing bowl.
“Okay, now poke it a little bit.” She didn’t release him. Instead, she pushed his finger into the dough enough that when he pulled it out, some of the dough got stuck on the tip.
He made a face. “No wonder Mathew didn’t like touching this. It’s too sticky.”
She snickered. “Not really. By the time you toss out your flour and roll the dough flat, you’ll end up losing all of that stickiness. It will cook really well and maintain that soft texture you were talking about.”
Tristan frowned. “You’re telling me that the reason my cookies always turn out miserable is that I put too much flour in the recipe?”
Dianna released his hand and lifted a shoulder. “That’s not theonlything. The recipe has to have a few things in it to help with the baking process.”
“Really? Aren’t all the recipes the same?”
She laughed again. But he didn’t feel like she was making fun of him. It was more of a laugh like he’d said something funny and she was joining in on the joke. “Of course not. Recipes are like people. There are so many different variations that each cookie will come out likewise. Some people use vanilla, and some people use almond extract. Some people use a lot more flour than I do. Whatever recipe your mother gave you, I would wager it has a few things in it to help make them soft. Do you happen to have that recipe?”
He shook his head. “It’s back home.”
“Well, I would wager that it calls for something like yogurt to help the dough stay softer. But more than that, I bet it also tells you to cook it at a higher temperature, like three-hundred and seventy-five degrees.”
Tristan shook his head. “Okay,thatI have a hard time believing. Wouldn’t that just cook it faster and you’d end up with a harder cookie?”
“Not necessarily. If you have a higher temperature, yes, it will cook the treat faster, but it will also prevent the oven from drying out the cookies. And if you undercook them slightly, they still continue to cook even after you pull them from the oven.”
He hadn’t moved from his position beside her. The more she talked, the more he realized that he couldn’t continue skirting the issue at hand.
“…that’s why your cookies aren’t turning out as well.”
“Go out with me.”
Her expression slackened.
Great. Had he just blurted out those words?
Of course he had. Because he wasn’t some suave, debonair suitor. He was a bumbling fool who had allowed himself to fantasize far too much over a woman who very well could be disinterested in him.
“I mean—that’s not what I was going to—”
“Tristan,” she started.
He could hear it in her voice. That was the tone a woman used when they wanted to let a guy down easy. He’d heard it before, but only a handful of times.
And he wasn’t about to let it get to him now.
“Hear me out, please,” he said quickly.
She snapped her mouth shut and stared at him expectantly.
“I’m going to be here for the next month. Mathew adores you. I think you’re wonderful. Would it really be so bad if we spent some extra time together?”
Dianna opened her mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “But what about the conflict of interest? I probably shouldn’t be involved with my client’s family in that way.”
“I think it’s pretty clear that you shouldn’t be dating your client.” His lips quirked into a grin. “We can both agree that you reallyshouldn’tdate him.”
A soft snort burst from her lips and her hand clapped over her mouth. “What about Shane? I’m sure he has rules against this sort of—”
