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“No way! God, Boston is way too small for its own good. I’m glad you finally know. I didn’t want Becca to be a cookie double-agent until her seventies, you know?”
I nodded. “I’m glad I know, too. I’m very impressed.” I said.
“Maybe the two of you can team up. Realtors love fresh cookies, right?” Jasmine joked.
“That’s actually a great idea,” I said.
Jasmine shrugged. “I’m full of ‘em.”
Becca yawned. “Well, this was great, but I should get back to the shop,” she said, checking her watch.
“Same here,” Olivia added.
I turned to Becca. “What time do you get off work? I can pick you up if you want,” I offered.
“That’d be great. I’ll be done at seven! I was going to run and check on The Cookie Cove after our cake tasting tomorrow, anyway. I’ll leave my car in the parking lot.” Becca said.
“Sounds good,” I said, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. She seemed so much more relaxed. Her posture was free of tension. Again, I wondered how she managed to carry around the weight of such a huge secret for so long.
I pulled up to The Cookie Cove at seven. I could see Becca illuminated by the glow of the neon sign. She flipped the open sign to “closed” and shut off the neon sign before spritzing the front window with Windex and wiping it down.
I knocked on the door, and she let me in.
“Hey,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed, and her once-clean apron was now covered in flour.
“How was the rest of the festival?” she asked as I stepped inside.
“It was … interesting. People really love tulips. I saw your cookies. They looked great.”
Becca shook her head. “Don’t mention it, for real. I will be content if I never see a tulip again for the rest of my life.”
“How many did you make?” I asked, leaning back against the counter as Becca popped open the cash drawer and started counting bills.
“Three hundred. Hang on, I have to grab more quarters from the back,” Becca said. She disappeared through the back and returned with a roll full of quarters.
“You said that like it was nothing. Three hundred cookies in one week? That’s insane.”
“It’s really not. The most I ever made for one event was eight hundred for the Dover 4th of July parade,” Becca said.
“Wait, you mean those firework cookies?” I remembered them from last year. Joey, who previously expressed zero interest in cookies, demolished four in one sitting.
“Yeah,” Becca said hesitantly.
“I was there. I went with Liv and my nephew. It was his first big parade! Here,” I scrolled through my phone until I found the photo of Joey in his stroller, clutching a drool-soaked cookie while wearing tiny blue sunglasses. I slid my phone across the counter to Becca.
“Wow, small world. I still can’t believe you and Liv are related. You’re so … different.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, Liv’s so friendly. You’re so … gruff,” she said with a laugh.
“Olivia always had the people skills in the family,” I agreed.
“I can’t believe the two of you were neighbors all this time.”
“I know! It’s not every day that you discover that your sister-in-law is also your favorite neighbor. I’m so excited!” Becca slammed the drawer closed and powered off the iPad.
“I’m all set. We can go out the back,” Becca said. She led me through the kitchen out the back door and fished a set of keys out of her back pocket. She locked the door and jiggled it twice.
