Page 113 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"They're educational."

"They're propaganda."

"They're recipes."

"They're propaganda disguised as recipes."

I smiled despite myself.

"You two know you're made of clay, right?"

"We're cultured," Gerald corrected.

"You're dusty."

"We're collectible."

"You're garden ornaments."

Gerald looked personally offended.

"I have standards."

"You live next to compost."

"I choose to."

I laughed quietly, cracking the second egg into the bowl. The yellow yolk disappeared beneath the butter with a wet swirl. I folded the flour in slowly. The dough came together exactly the way I liked it. Soft. Heavy. Just sticky enough to cling to the spoon before finally letting go.

"They're for Elias," I said almost absentmindedly.

Silence. Absolute silence. Even the kettle seemed to stop hissing. Gerald turned toward me with the slow horror of a man witnessing a public execution.

"No."

Frank frowned.

"Absolutely not."

"He doesn't deserve cookies."

"He looks like he'd complain about cookies."

"He probably eats dry toast voluntarily."

"He definitely drinks black coffee because happiness scares him."

I reached for the chocolate chips. The big ones. The expensive ones. The ones that melt into little puddles.

Gerald gasped.

"The premium chocolate?"

"He'll appreciate it."

"He won't."

"He absolutely won't."