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“And that day you made cookies with salt instead of sugar?”
“Honest mistake. And worth it. Remember when Lennon grabbed one without knowing?”
“Oh my God.” She clutches her chest. “His face was priceless.”
“Horror movie worthy. Actually,” I say as a wonderful idea hits. “We should—”
“—ask Delilah to set him up?”
I guess Jolene can still read my mind. “She could bake something at her shop with salt instead of sugar and slip it to him.”
“While we’re there, of course.” Her eyes dance. “We’d have to video his reaction.”
We high-five, the two of us grinning like we’re teenagers setting our first booby trap.
“Your brothers are the best, by the way. And although youdidcook well growing up, you didn’t cook like this.” She takes another bite, savoring as she swallows.
I shrug. “Twelve years is a long time. Had to eat every day.”
“You also didn’t keep your college apartment this spotless.” Her attention passes over the hardwood floor I sweep daily, my kitchen counter already cleaned from cooking, the small pile of her neatly folded clothes. “Jake said something about cleaning rules when you lived together.”
“Yeah, well.” I dust flecks of salt off the table, uncomfortable sharing truths under Jolene’s steady stare, but we’ll be stuck in close quarters for a while. If I stay quiet, she’ll just say my name in thatCallahanway. “We all had our coping mechanisms during WITSEC. One of mine was cleaning.”
“Because it was something you could control?”
“I never thought of it like that. Assumed it was more of a distraction. But yeah, that probably played a part. What about you? How have you changed the past twelve years?”
She finishes her last bite of stir-fry and gives me a full-teeth grin. “Sadly, my tendency to be on the messy side of life has gotten worse. I’m a one-person hurricane, which I should maybe have mentioned before moving in.”
I give her my best glower. “Guess you’ll be changing those ways.”
She bats her lashes. “Or you’ll be relaxing your cleaning rules?”
This woman. As charming as Jo is, even she can’t curb my fastidiousness. “Don’t make my place messy, Jolene.”
“But messy is so much more fun,Callahan.” Her sweet tone has an edge to it I can’t decipher. And yeah, my body thrums at the wordmessydropping from her lips. The sentiment conjures images of clothes scattered on the floor, sheets askew, tangled limbs.
Chaos in my ordered world.
I shove my chair back and gather her plate and cutlery in a brusque clatter. Jolene tries to take over cleaning, but I only let her help. I fill the dishwasher while she washes the wok by hand. I grab a towel for drying, still too curious for my own good.
“You evaded,” I say as she hands me the wet wok. “Name one thing that’s changed about you the past decade.”
She nibbles her lip and presses her thumb deeper into the soapy sponge. “I was so insecure growing up. So worried about what people thought of me, always assuming the worst. I’m more confident now, sure in who I am. But I also think I live my life scared in a way I never used to.”
I place the dry wok down and lean my hip into the counter. “Scared of what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Someone’s pushy.”
“Someone’s avoiding her feelings.”
She laughs. “At least this hasn’t changed.”
She doesn’t need to explain what “this” is. Our banter and challenging conversations. Our need to pull out each other’s innermost worries. “Why do you live scared?” I ask gently.
