by Abbi Glines
When I decided to make him cookies, I saw brownie mix and thought I may have a better chance at pulling that off. But he had mentioned cookies before brownies which could mean he preferred cookies.
After more debate than needed, I bought it all. Then realized I didn’t have baking sheets and had to buy those. If Chantel were here I would never hear the end of her laughter. I couldn’t cook anything. Much less bake sweets I wouldn’t allow myself to eat.
If I couldn’t pull off the cookie recipe I found online that was categorized as easy, then I had the brownie mix and I was sure anyone could make those. Of course, hitting a bakery and buying him cookies that were sure to be good had been an option, but he’d worked hard on my shelves. I felt like he deserved my effort to thank him.
After waking up this morning, I laid in bed staring at the sunlight through the blinds thinking about last night. I wasn’t one to talk about myself. But last night I had gone on and on with more information than Marty needed or wanted. What was even more embarrassing was I knew nothing more about him. I didn’t even know what he did for a living. If he was in college? Nothing. I hadn’t asked a thing.
The cookies were also an apology for being a chatterbox. I wasn’t that girl. The self-absorbed one who talked about herself for hours. Had I talked until I fell asleep? Covering my face with my hands, I groaned at the thought. I sure hope not. If I let myself think about it too much I would be head back to the store to buy everything I needed to bake him a cake. Which would result in nothing good. Literally.
I pulled out the cookie sheets and put them by the sink. I also put the eggs, butter, and milk in the fridge. Baking could take the rest of the day, and I only had two days left to get things put away before I left for Miami to do the sunblock billboard advertisement.
Hopefully, I’ll bake these cookies quickly and successfully. If not, I’d be running to Hannah’s Sweets, a bakery I noticed down the street. I only had time to attempt this once. If Shay were here, she’d help me or do it for me, and they’d be delicious. Her mother could bake anything. The cakes she made were not only decorated beautifully but tasted ridiculously good.
My mother could advise me on where I needed Botox, where to buy the newest most coveted designer handbag, and what colors looked good with my skin tone—none of which could help me at this moment. I’m not sure if she could even turn an oven on.
Picking up my phone, I called Shay. She was going to suffocate from lack of oxygen after laughing at me, but then she would help me with a few questions I had about the directions. Like what exactly was kneading.
The phone rang three times before Shay mumbled, “This better be good. I worked until three.”
“I need to bake cookies and I have some questions about the directions,” I said without hesitation. Shay would hang up on me fast if I gave too much pause.
When she didn’t say much at first, I thought she might have fallen back to sleep. Then I heard her yawn. “Is this my sister or has someone stolen her phone?”
“It’s me. I need to make cookies. Help me,” I pleaded.
“Cookies? Fiona, you don’t eat cookies. Did you join a church and find Jesus then decide to participate in their bake sale?”
“They’re . . . I need to make some . . . as a thank you . . . for a guy,” I said wincing as I said it.
Shay let out a laugh, then I heard a thump and she cursed into the phone. “Dammit! You made me laugh so hard I fell off the bed. I think I broke my cereal bowl.”
I waited for her to get herself composed. She wasn’t going to help until she got over the laughter then the questioning.
“Are you sure you want to make someone cookies as a thank you? I mean, you making cookies and feeding them to someone is more like a punishment.”
Annoyed, I scowled. “You don’t know. I may be an excellent baker. I’ve just never tried.”
“Fiona, you burn toast. In a toaster.”
“ONCE! That happened once Shay, and the toaster caught on fire. It wasn’t my fault.”
Shay laughed some more.
I waited because I needed her. If I didn’t need her so badly at the moment I’d hang up the phone.
“But the man some cookies from a bakery. He’ll thank you plenty.”
“He put together my shelves. It took time. Buying him something that takes no effort isn’t the same.”
“Then let him see you naked.”
Rolling my eyes at no one, I groaned into the phone. “Shay, seriously!”
“I am fucking serious. Is he good-looking?”
I thought about Marty’s smile. The way his arms flexed as he worked on the shelves. Those dimples. “Yes.”
“Then invite him over. Turn on some sexy music and give the man a lap dance. You won’t burn your new place down, and he’ll enjoy that. Your cookies, not so much. He could choke and die.”
“Tell me what it means to knead something and how to preheat the oven. Oh, and what is a pinch exactly? Like a teaspoon? Half a teaspoon?”
Shay sighed. “Fine. If you are bent on killing the man with your culinary skills, read the damn recipe to me, and I will translate.”
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” I said knowing she’d eventually give in.
“You owe me. I have to be back at work tonight, and I doubt I go back to sleep after this.”
“Why are you still working at the grocery store?”
“I’m not,” she replied, but added nothing else.
“Then where are you working that keeps you out so late?”
My question is met with silence on the other end of the phone line. And then she says, “Read me the recipe.”
Shay rarely hid anything. She was an open book. So my warning signals went off. “Shay, where are you working?”
“A new restaurant. Now stop with the questioning. I’m not making you explain Mr. Handyman to me.”
She had a point. But I didn’t know of any restaurant that stayed open that late. I’d find out later. After I baked my cookies.
“Fine. But this isn’t over.”
“Of course it’s not,” she replied with a bored tone.
Marty
THIS WAS THE END OF my dayshift week at the firehouse. I was off tomorrow then my nightshift week began. Nights were normally our busiest times, but today had been a tough one. The kitchen in a bar caught fire right as I got to work this morning, a trailer went up in flames not an hour after that. On our way back to the station, a car accident caused a tractor to catch fire near the interstate.
Filthy, I walked into the apartment to find Mack on the sofa with his feet propped up and his laptop resting on his thighs. He seemed amused at the sight of me. It wasn’t exactly amusing that I’d been saving lives all day.
“You look like hell,” he said as he took in my appearance.
“Long day,” I said heading to the kitchen.
“Be sure to get one of those cookies in there on the bar. The ones with the pretty red bow tied around them. You could use one to break a window at the next fire rescue,” he said then laughed.
Confused I glanced at the bar to see a white tray with chocolate chip cookies covered in cellophane paper and the bow Mack had mentioned.
“Where did these come from?” I asked walking over to see if there was a card.
“Our neighbor. They’re a thank you. Be sure to read the note.” He was still chuckling.
The card had been taken out of the envelope and was lying beside the cookies. I picked it up. We had one neighbor that I cared about and he knew it.
Marty,
Thank you so much for your help last night. My shelves are perfect. I feel terrible for falling asleep on you. I hope the last few steps weren’t difficult without an extra set of hands. I’m not the world’s best cook or a cook at all. But I wanted to make you something. As a thank you. Cookies aren’t much, but hopefully you will enjoy them.
Fiona
I read the note written in neat penmanship with a slight flourish making it unde
niably feminine. I tucked it into my pocket to keep. She’d made me cookies.
“Be careful. I tried one. I think I need dental work now,” Mack called out.
That only made them better. Fiona who didn’t eat cookies had tried to make me some. That was the sweetest, cutest damn thing I could think of at the moment. Picking one up and studying it, I had to admit it looked good. However, when I put it in my mouth and tried to bite down, it was like trying to eat a rock.
Mack’s laughter rang through the apartment, and I couldn’t help but smile like a lunatic. They were the best dame gift I’d ever gotten because they weren’t even edible. I gave up biting into it and turned toward the living room to look at my brother. He was laughing so hard his face was red.
“If she’s not careful, I’ll fall in love.”
“Jesus,” he muttered.
I returned the uneaten cookie to the plate and walked over to get a storage bag from the drawer I’d stowed a box in. These were keepers. I might not be able to eat them but damned if I was tossing them. Carefully, I placed every last one of the cookies in the bag.
“You don’t have to be so careful with them. They won’t break. You could toss them across the room at me and they’d knock me out cold,” Mack’s sarcasm had a ring of truth. There was no reason to treat them with such care but knowing Fiona made them, and I had no doubt that she had, I felt a sense of attachment to the cookies.
After the last cookie was in the bag, I zipped it closed. I cleaned the plate and now I had a reason to do more than thank Fiona for the cookies. I also had a plate to return. I wanted to think she’d done that on purpose. She could have easily brought them on a paper plate. Or a bag like the one I now had them in.
“What are you planning on doing with the chocolate chip cement?” Mack asked.
I dried the plate and picked up my bag of cookies. “Keeping them,” was all I said.
“To use as weapons?”
“Stop being an ass.” I was getting annoyed with his humor about my cookies.
“Next time she tries to bake something, it would be wise if she tasted it herself before giving them to anyone.” Mack wasn’t letting this go.
I ignored him and took the cookies to my room. I looked around trying to figure out where to store them when I spotted the empty shoebox from my newest pair of tennis shoes.
Letters, the napkin she used on our first date, the movie tickets from the night she told me she loved me the first time, along with other small things I’d saved from Mary Grace now sat in my closet in a shoebox. Somehow it made putting Fiona’s cookies in a shoebox seem wrong. The green and yellow shoebox filled with my memories of Mary Grace was the past. I didn’t want Fiona stored away in my closet like a memory.
Instead, I went to the top drawer of my dresser and placed the bag of cookies there beside my extra keys, a bowl that held my change, and a checkbook I never used. This was my present. Things I needed. Things that weren’t tucked away forgotten.
It felt right having them there. Pleased with my decision, I closed the drawer. I went to the bathroom and striped out of my dirty clothing then took a much-needed shower. If I was going to thank Fiona, I didn’t want to stink.
After I’d cleaned up, dressed nicely, and threw on a little cologne, I headed down the hallway, stopping in the kitchen to pick up the plate and tuck it under my right arm. I didn’t tell Mack where I was going. I was sure he knew, and I didn’t want to hear his stupid comments. He was entertaining himself at my expense.
Just as I was opening the door he called out, “Tell Fiona I said thank you. We now have a solid plan on how to deal with any intruders. We can nail them in the head with her chocolate chip rocks.” He cackled away at his attempt at humor.
I closed the door on his laughter and headed for the stairs. I might as well get used to it. He’d make cookie jokes for the next week at least. I just hoped he didn’t say anything in front of Fiona. She didn’t need to know they were impossible to eat.
Climbing the stairs two at a time, I reached her door and felt giddy from excitement as I rang the bell. It felt good to want to see someone like this. Knowing she would smile and my world would spin a little caused other less pleasant things in life to fade away. Those unwanted things were suddenly less important.
I heard her footsteps before the handle turned and the door swung open. Then she was there. Dressed in running shorts, a sports bra and her tennis shoes. Sweat ran down the side of her temple in a small bead. I was sure no one had ever looked this beautiful after a run.
“Uh, oh, hey,” she said, then took a drink from the water bottle in her right hand. After swallowing a large gulp, she let out a sigh. “Sorry. I just finished my run. It’s hot today. I think I need to find a more shaded area for this.”
Her gaze fell to the plate in my hands, and a small smile touched her lips. “You got the cookies.”
“I did. Thank you,” I replied. “I didn’t expect cookies or anything else for that matter. I was happy to help but coming home from work and having the cookies waiting was a nice surprise.”
Her smile grew even more, and I knew right then that if Mack ever told her those cookies were like rocks, I’d beat his ass.
Fiona
HAVING MARTY SEE ME AND possibly smell me after my run wasn’t ideal but it was inevitable now that we were neighbors. It wasn’t like I would stop running. I reached up and wiped the sweat I felt rolling down my face. Knowing he’d found and eaten some of the cookies made the stress of making not one, but three batches before they finally stuck together worth it.
Shay may never forgive me for calling her five times during the process to ask her more questions. I knew she would be tired at work tonight because of it. I would just owe her one. Baking him the cookies was better than buying them. I knew that.
He held out the plate to me. “I wanted to return this and thank you.” He smile was pleasant.
I took the plate. “You’ve eaten them all?” I asked surprised.
He chuckled and shook his head. “No. But I moved them to a storage bag so I could bring you back your plate.”
“Thank you, but you could have kept the plate longer. I wasn’t missing it,” although I wanted to see him it could have been at a time when I looked better.
“I might have wanted an excuse to see you,” he said the words as his dimples appeared.
“Oh,” I said the one word as I thought it. I knew I needed to say more, but the flutter in my chest made it hard to breath properly. I’d dated plenty, but the way Marty made me feel just by smiling at me was new. So was the way his appearance at my door had caused my pulse to pick up. And when he grinned, my breathing became a little erratic.
Attraction I understood. I’d experience it in the past. More than once. But this was beyond that and it scared me a little. The vulnerability that came with the sensations were unknown. I never had been good with change or new things. I liked being prepared. Nothing about Marty made me feel like I was stable.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asked then. I had been staring at him after my one-word response.
“Unpacking,” I admitted. But then I wished I hadn’t because I wanted to see him. The fear of the unknown must not be bad enough to keep me from him.
“How would you feel about me bringing dinner and helping you?” he asked the question almost cautiously like he was as unsure as I felt.
“I’d like that,” I replied. I jumped right on in. This was it. We were going to try this. And I could find out if the crazy reaction my body had to him was real.
The right corner of his mouth slowly lifted. “Good. I’ll be back in an hour,” he said.
“Okay.” That gave me plenty of time to take a shower and make myself presentable.
With a nod, he stepped back giving me one more lingering glance then turned to head back down the stairs. I wanted to watch him, but that would be weird. I closed the door instead, then sighed as it clicked shut. I had a lot to unpack and put away. There was
even a list of things I needed to finish before I went to bed. But those things seemed less important now.
Enjoying a meal with Marty, asking him questions, and getting to know him had surpassed my desire to have my apartment organized. I was a little surprised by that myself. I liked to check everything of my lists. It made me feel accomplished as if I had made good use of that day.
Heading back to the shower I decided that sometimes lists were made to be forgotten. Plans could change and I was okay with that. I was also okay with the way Marty’s eyes studied me as if I was the only thing that mattered. It was more than flattering, it was intoxicating.
Although I worked quickly, I made sure I did all the small things that made me feel feminine and attractive. Starting with shaving my legs. I chose my lotion carefully and took extra care drying my hair so that it held some natural curl. I opted to use only a little powder on my face, a touch of blush, and no eye makeup. This was a casual thing. I didn’t need to fix up as if we were going out.
Marty had seen me at my worst after my run, and it hadn’t turned him off. Getting too fixed up now seemed silly as if I would be trying too hard. After changing outfits three times trying to decide what I should wear for dinner and unpacking, I realized I was nervous.
Refusing to change out of the beige velvet shorts that were soft and comfortable, and the cream sleeveless top I’d put on last, I went back to make sure the kitchen was cleaned up before he arrived with dinner.
The doorbell rang by the time I finished unloading the dishwasher, and with a deep calming breath, I went to answer the door. What I had expected was Marty with a bag of carryout. What I found was Marty with several brown bags from the market around the corner.