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“Like baking cookies at Christmas time? Yes, but they were always the store-bought sugar cookie dough that we’d bake and decorate ourselves. Nothing like this,” he says, pointing to the oven.
“Okay, you have to make me a promise.” Meg points at me. “Promise me that once a week, every other week at least, you’ll do something fun for yourself. It can be cooking a new recipe or getting out on the boat again, just something not related to work.”
“You seem to feel very strongly about this promise,” I chuckle, leaning in closer to her. “Why is that?”
“Because maybe you won’t look like you’re always grumpy,” she smirks, as I lean back, forcing back laughter.
“That’s hilarious coming from the little chaos pixie.”
The oven timer dings, and Meg pulls the cookies out. She tells me that the wonderfully delicious aroma of brown sugar and sweet oats releasing into the kitchen sparks memories of holidays spent with her sister Mia and her grandpa.
I’m looking forward to seeing the final results as much as tasting them. Meg carefully transfers them to a cutting board so they cool faster and puts them in front of our seats.
She asks me to give the icing another quick stir before getting spoons out for the jams. “Okay,” she says, as she hands me a spoon. “Would you like to do the icing or add the jam?”
When I reply “icing,” we swap places.
“Now, there’s a way my grandmother taught me to do the icing. You want to make a Z like Zorro,” she says, mimicking the motion of Zorro’s sword. “It looks cooler if you have the cape.”
Her demonstration makes me smile and I reply: “I think I can manage that.”
Once the jam is added to the cookies, I follow behind and drizzle little Zs on the cookies, making them look even more delicious than before. We make sure to make a few of them with blackberry, others with raspberry, and a couple of strawberry ones for Chef. Once they’re all decorated, it’s time for the best part.
“Alright,” Meg says, putting the spoons to the side. “Let me know what you think.” She watches my reaction as I take my first bite of the cookie, soon followed by widened eyes and an approving nod.
“I was not expecting anything with oats to taste this good! And they’re not too sweet.” When I finish off the cookie, I reach for another. “These are delicious, Meg.”
Meg is watching me stuff the second one down and giggles, telling me I have something on my face. I must say my reaction was confusion until she raised her hand to gently turn my face slightly to the side where a piece of jam apparently clings to my skin. With the other hand, she gently wipes it away, her touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.
“You had a spot of jam on your cheek,” she says, as my eyes study her face.
I give up a warm smile and realize I want to say something very dear, but I quickly change my mind. Apparently, my expression tells Meg that my thoughts have strayed elsewhere.
“Uh, we should make a plate for Chef,” she stutters, explaining that the strawberry ones are his.
“He’d like that,” I agree, as I make up the plate myself before we clean up the last of the dishes.
“I want to make a new rule,” Meg decrees. “When we spend time together, no phones.”
Today, without its constant distraction, I feel like I’m giving her a more authentic version of me. I haven’t been shy about telling her about my parents, and I’m not distracted by outside forces. It’s just the two of us. It isn’t a lot, but it’s a start.
“I didn’t even think to check my phone,” I say, subconsciously patting my pants pocket, feeling for the phone that isn’t there.
“I believe they call that unplugging,” Meg grins. “Feels nice, huh?”
“I’m definitely not complaining,” I smile, wrapping my arms around Meg’s waist and pulling her to me. “You should distract me more often.”
I lean down to kiss her and this time, she tastes like sweet jam and even sweeter icing. In the chilled kitchen air, her body feels warm as I pull her close. It’s like I’m wrapping her in a human blanket, like the kind you never want to leave when you wake up perfectly cuddled up in bed on a cold, lazy morning.
When I reluctantly pull away, it takes me a minute to remember what I wanted to say before her kiss interrupted me.
“All part of my master plan.” She tilts her head and smiles with a quirky laugh.
Yes, Meg is home to me now. I have to figure out how to keep her from hating me.
Chapter eighteen
Meg – The Truth Comes Out
