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She smiles, and taps the chalkboard display behind her. I’m confused for a moment. It just reads: OL’ BUTTERSCOTCH COOKIES. . .$2.25.
“They’re still your favorite, right?”
I look at the display again.
OL’ BUTTERSCOTCH.
OL.
Owen Larabee. Or maybe just ol’ as in “old” as in why am I trying to make a thing out of cookies?
She reaches in and takes one out, sets it on a plate and slides it over to me. “But save room for the pumpkin cupcakes because I think they’re quite possibly the best I’ve ever made.” She disappears into the kitchen, leaving me sitting at the counter full of confused thoughts.
Between my sister’s outburst, Lindsay’s comments, and that ridiculous podcast, I think what I really need is to go off-grid for a while.
Too many women getting in my head.
Emmy’s back with a whole tray of cupcakes and a small bowl of frosting. She glances at the uneaten cookie in front of me. “You didn’t even taste it.”
“Sorry, I’m distracted.”
“Mack?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “But that’s only part of it.”
“Ah, Lindsay,” she says.
“No, that’s not—”
Again, she holds up her hand. “We can talk about anything—except Lindsay.”
I nod. That’s fine with me.
I watch her and wonder if it still stings for her to think about me and Lindsay. All those times I talked to her about my feelings, Emmy listened, like a friend. But once I found out that she had similar feelings for me, I felt like a first-class jerk.
I was hurting her, daily, and she didn’t say a word.
I take a bite of the cookie, which may be a day old but is still amazing.
I’m suddenly aware that this is how Emmy and I became friends in the first place.
She’s looking at me now like she did then, like she actually cares what I’m thinking. And she did that at a time when nobody else really did.
It’s nice to see some things between us haven’t changed.
“The captain. At the station.”
She grabs a spoon. “What about him?”
“He mentioned that I should take the test. You know, to become a lieutenant.” Not what I planned to talk to her about, but it’s what came out. I haven’t told anyone else about this.
She stops “Really? Owen, that’s amazing!” She picks up a bag and fills it with frosting.
I nod.
“Are you going to do it?” She hands me the bag.
I look at it, then look at her.
