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“No, thank you. I drink the red without either. But if you have it, cinnamon would be very nice.”
“Oh! I’ve never had it that way.” She rifles through her spice cupboard and sets a round, glass jar on the table next to the steaming mugs. Sitting back down, she watches as I add the cinnamon, then puts the same amount into her own mug and blows on it to cool it off. “It smells quite delicious. Just like cookies.”
“Yes. Our chef used to make cookies that had a lot of cinnamon in them. It’s one of my favorite spices.”
“Do you cook with it a lot?”
Laughter bursts out of me, and her eyes widen. “Oh, Mrs. Clarke. I don’t cook at all. I’m useless in the kitchen, past making hot beverages.”
She waves a hand at me. “Nonsense. No one is useless in the kitchen. You’ve just never been shown how to do it.”
I shake my head adamantly. “Honestly. I’m not exaggerating. The thought of cooking actually terrifies me. What if I burn something? What if I catch the entire place on fire?” I get nervous just thinking about it.
She eyes me speculatively. “What are you doing today? Do you have any plans?”
I think about my boring morning so far. The idea of more of the same seems overwhelming, and I’m enjoying her company. “No. Gunnar will be home after lunch, but I’m on my own until then. Did you need some help with something?”
Mrs. Clarke smiles and pats my hand. “No dear. You and I are going to bake Gunnar his favorite cookies.” Sweat immediately beads on my forehead because I truly am horrible in the kitchen. “Don’t worry. They’re very easy, and we’ll take our time. I’ll be right here with you. Think how impressed Gunnar will be! And you know what they say… the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” She winks at me, and I smile, wondering if ‘they’ still say that. “If Gunnar will be home after lunch, then we probably should get started. We have to chill the dough for an hour. But it just so happens that I was going to bake something today anyway, so I already have the butter and eggs out to come to room temperature.” I give her a blank look, and she pats my hand and smiles. “It’ll be fine. Let’s wash our hands and get started.”
She stands, and I follow blindly. “Um, maybe I should just watch this time. And next time I could help.” But I’m already soaping up my hands under the warm water of the kitchen sink.
“Nonsense. It’s very easy, I promise.” She pulls a big mixer to the edge of the counter, flipping up the body even though it looks very heavy. “Now, we need two sticks of butter and an egg. Will you get them for me?” She gestures to the waiting ingredients neatly arranged on the counter next to the refrigerator. I cross the kitchen while taking deep breaths, clamping down on the panic that threatens to send me screaming back to Gunnar’s house. It’s just an egg and some butter. I can handle that.
“Right. Now we need sugar and flour. They’re in those canisters, dear.” She points to a tidy set of ceramic containers lined up on the other side of the kitchen, and I bring them over to her. If I just fetch ingredients while she makes the recipe, this could be alright. “Now, if you’ll go into the pantry over there, I need the salt and the bottle of vanilla extract.” I nod and hurry to get them, relieved to perform another easy fetch quest, returning to Mrs. Clarke with the treasures.
“Now comes the fun part.” Before I know what’s happening, she grabs a floral print bib apron from a hook on the pantry door and pulls it over my head. Then she moves back and motions for me to step in front of the mixer.
I shake my head. “No, really, I definitely should watch this time around. What if I break your mixer? I’d feel awful.”
She laughs but insists. Like I’m being led to the gallows, I step up to the counter. Mrs. Clarke walks me slowly through measuring and adding the ingredients, making me do all the work. Surprisingly, it’s not as dreadful as I feared. “You are a natural! You’re doing so well.”
We scrape the dough out onto waxed paper and put it in the refrigerator. “Now, we wait for an hour, and then we bake them! It’s that simple.” I can’t stop smiling. I’ve made cookie dough all by myself. Well, sort of by myself. I feel ridiculously pleased and can’t wait to tell Gunnar.
“Let’s have some more tea. Red again?” I nod, and we sit at the kitchen table, Mrs. Clarke picking up the conversation where we left off. “So, how did you meet Gunnar? Don’t tell me he was in some legal trouble, and you represented him.” Her eyes twinkle teasingly.
“Oh, no. I’m not that kind of lawyer. I work on contracts. Literary ones, mostly. You know Gunnar’s sister is an editor?” She nods. “Gunnar and I reconnected at an event her company hosted. I work on their author contracts, so they invited me.” During the hour or so we have to wait, I tell her our whole story, going back to how Astrid and I are best friends and ending with this morning, obviously omitting the more spicy parts.
“How romantic! Chance meeting, he rescues you, sweeps you off your feet, and you fall head over heels in a whirlwind romance.” She sighs happily, and I don’t have the heart to tell her we aren’t in love. Because we aren’t. Are we? It does feel like a whirlwind... but love? I’m a bit lost in pondering that when she pulls me back to the present. “Alright! Time to pull the dough out and make those cookies! Do you know how to preheat an oven?” She laughs at my blank look.
Without judgment, she walks me through the rest of the process, and in an hour, we have a few dozen butter cookies, neatly packaged in a disposable container. I help her clean the kitchen, and hang my apron back on the pantry door. “Mrs. Clarke, thank you so much. This was exactly what I needed today. I’m going to go now and let you have your house back. Gunnar should be home soon, and I want to be there when he arrives.”
She beams up at me, patting my arm. “Anytime, dear. And don’t be afraid of the kitchen. If you take your time and think it all through, it’s simple. You did so well!”
She walks me to the door and hands me my coat. Leaning down to kiss her cheek, I tuck the cookies under my arm, then head around the fence to the backyard and the unlocked patio door. I set the cookies on the kitchen counter and go into the living room to watch TV until Gunnar gets home. Not even half an hour later, my phone buzzes.
Gunnar: Leaving now. Want me to bring lunch?
Me: Yes please! Whatever you want xxxooo
Gunnar: OK. C U in a bitkiss face emoji
27
Gunnar
Ipullintothegarage, gather my laptop bag and our food, and go into the kitchen, surprised to see Jocelin waiting for me. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” I set the food on the counter and my laptop bag on the floor, then pull him into my arms, brushing my lips against his. The kiss is supposed to be a quick peck, but the moment our lips touch, I don’t want to stop. And when Jocelin wraps his arms around my neck and presses into the kiss, I don’t even try. Why fight the inevitable?
