Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Love?” he teased.
She snorted. “Pepper.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Say what now? Pepper cookies? I don’t know, Slick. Just how long were you in Denver? I think you’ve been without a stove for too long. People don’t eat pepper cookies.”
She set the plate of cooling cookies on the counter beside her and reached for a covered mixing bowl. She spooned out more dough onto the now empty sheet. “Yes, they do. Maybe not here in South Dakota. But these cookies are a hit in Albuquerque. I used to work at a bakery there and we couldn’t make enough of these cookies to keep up with demand.”
Chris reached for a cookie and sniffed it. “I thought you were from Phoenix,” he replied casually, inspecting the cookie.
Shit, she thought. And pretended to have trouble getting the dough onto the baking sheet. “I am. But I have an aunt in Albuquerque and sometimes I stayed with her. And when I did I worked at the bakery she owned.”
“Hmmm,” Chris said noncommittally and she resisted the urge to look at him to see if he believed her. Whether he did or not remained a mystery because he took a bite of the cookie.
*********************
She was lying about the aunt, that much was certain, but damn she wasn’t lying about those cookies. “What kind of cookies are these?” he asked again around a mouthful of chocolate-y peppery goodness. Apparently people in Albuquerque had good taste and weren’t squeamish about pepper in their baked goods.
“Do you like them?”
“Honey, these are the best damn cookies I’ve ever eaten. What the hell are they?”
She smiled at him and it reminded him that he was supposed to go easy on her. But damn. That smile. It was almost better than the cookies. “Spicy Mexican Chocolate.” He watched greedily as she put another batch into the oven and set the timer. He was so going to negotiate for more than one cookie.
“Whew,” he said loudly. “I am some kind of worn out. From mowing your lawn, Miss Daisy,” also reminding her that he’d chauffeured her to the grocery store.
She shot him a withering look then picked up the plate of cookies and handed it to him. “Let’s take them outside.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied happily, practically skipping off with his booty.
Chris was on his fourth cookie when he caught her eyeing him strangely. She didn’t look like she was thinking about making him her Pirate King. She looked…wistful. “What’s up, Slick?” he asked her.
As if startled by being caught out, she covered it by plucking a cookie off the plate. “I…I could make lunch for you,” she said suddenly. “I mean,” she added quickly. “If you really won’t let me mow the lawn. I could make lunch on Sundays. Possibly a really good lunch, if you promise not to mow before 8 am. My mom made us lunch on Sundays.”
“Yeah, that’s a good deal,” he replied and picked up his beer. “So…is she gone? Passed or…?”
“No. She still makes lunch on Sundays for my dad.”
He nodded. “Why’d you leave Phoenix?”
She frowned at her plate. “Um, just, you know, you can’t live at home forever.”
“Well, that’s the truth,” he agreed. “Did you go to college?”
She brushed some crumbs off the table to avoid looking at him. “Yeah. But I didn’t finish. I left my junior year.”
“What’d you study?”
“Nothing.”
He was quiet a moment. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
She looked up at him. “I wasn’t…I mean it’s true. I didn’t study anything. I was…it was a very different time. Very different life. A guy like you wouldn’t understand.”
Chris set down his beer. “I went to college, Slick. I’m not just some dumb army grunt.” It was true. He’d taken classes every spare minute that he wasn’t deployed until he’d earned a four year degree, albeit it took a lot longer than four years, but still.
She gaped at him. “That’s- that’s not what I meant! I- I was not calling you stupid. I was just saying that I was raised differently. That’s all.”
Well, they were definitely raised differently. That much Chris could agree on. Unless she was secretly raised by a one percenter motorcycle club. But Slick didn’t know him, didn’t know he’d escaped the outlaw life by enlisting. He was more than a little irritated that after all he’d done to transform himself, this woman could still see underneath to his white trash underbelly.
“I have a double major in Political Science and Business, Slick,” he informed her in a clipped tone. “Maybe the army paid for it, but I earned it. We aren’t that different,” he bit out.
“But we are different! You were in the army. Now you own your own business! You’re a useful member of society,” she replied. “I didn’t study anything in college because I was only there for my MRS.”
Chris leaned back in his chair and stared at her. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “MRS.”