The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap

by Kauffman, Donna; Angell, Kate; Kincaid, Kimberly

  “Okay. And thank you. For . . . everything.”

  “What are friends for?” He turned onto the main road, then headed out of Pine Mountain on the road toward Bealetown.

  What are friends for, indeed. As if she needed a reminder with all she had going on that that was all they could be. And maybe she did need it. He’d teased her a little, sure, and he’d kissed her all but senseless, but that didn’t mean he was interested in anything serious. He’d gotten answers to some long-ago questions, and he’d made it clear that he still saw her as a friend. Possibly a friend he’d like a few benefits with, but with all he had going on, she doubted he was looking for more. He’d jumped in pretty easily, after all, so perhaps that kind of thing was just a casual choice for him. With the way he looked, she doubted he’d have a problem finding whatever kind of partner he wanted, for whatever duration he wanted.

  She couldn’t do the casual, no-strings thing with him, though. Now, after the new year, or ever. But that wasn’t stopping her from thinking about being in his house while he got cleaned up. In his shower. Alone. And naked. Friends shouldn’t picture friends naked, right? Of course, one look at herself in a mirror would probably kill any fantasies she had about him wanting her to maybe join him, help him wash his back . . .

  “I just have one question,” she blurted out, fervently shutting down any and all images of a naked Will doing anything. With or without her.

  “And what would that be?”

  She smiled at him. “Are you paid up on your fire insurance?”

  Chapter 5

  “Thanks for coming by, Eric. I really appreciate it.” Will gave a short wave to his EMT pal as Eric lugged his equipment back to the squad truck then closed the front door and returned to his kitchen.

  Clara, soot-free now and clothed in yet another set of his sweats, sat on a stool beside the heavy butcher block counter that doubled as a prep table and dining room table. “You really didn’t need to do that.”

  “It’s my training. Indulge me.” He leaned a hip against the stove. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “You’re glad someone other than me has now pronounced me okay.” She waved off her own comment. “I’m sorry. You’re doing more than your job, you’re being my friend. And I couldn’t be more grateful.”

  She’d already talked to the marshal, so he knew the whole story about how the fire had started. Will had sat in on their session, so he also knew she was facing her first column deadline, which was now less than a full day away.

  “I got the fire marshal to bring me something of yours.”

  She instantly brightened. “My laptop?”

  “Uh, no. We still have to go pick up clothes and whatever, so we can grab it then. I have one you can borrow in the meantime. I have wifi, so you shouldn’t have any problems getting or sending mail, doing research, whatever.”

  “We could go now. That is, if you have the time. I can drive my own car back.”

  “Don’t you want to see what the fire marshal brought?”

  “Oh, right. Sure.” She held up a hand. “Wait. Is it something tragic? Like a singed teddy bear, rescued from the ruins of my one and only baking attempt?”

  “Why would you have a teddy bear in the kitchen?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, and he immediately felt better. It was good to see her start to return to her regular self. Listening and watching while she spoke to Nick, he had marveled both at how much she was the same Parker he’d known and how far she’d come since then. She had downplayed her journalistic history to him, but Nick had asked a few questions about her job, mostly as it pertained to the reason for the fire. She’d been quite the professional, detailing everything, which had included a bit more of her history with the Gazette. Before writing the advice column, she’d written the column with all the news and events happening at the ski resort, and there was no missing her enthusiasm when talking about her town, her people.

  And, though she’d deny it, she was more graceful, more polished, more at ease with her long-limbed body. A body, even swimming in his sweatpants and sweatshirt, that was doing things to him he was having a hard time controlling.

  No men, no sex. Friends only. Damn it. “Not a teddy bear.” He hefted the grocery sack onto the kitchen counter. “I called Nick while he was still at your place and he managed to rescue this from the kitchen carnage.” He slid out the children’s cookie cookbook and put it on the counter. One look at her expression and his smile faded. “Okay, so maybe I misjudged the tragic part. I thought you needed this to make your deadline. And it would save time not having to replace it.”

  She looked at the sooty book with a mixture of trepidation and disgust. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I’m not cut out to do this job. I need to call Fran—my editor—and tell her to find another cookie columnist. I mean, as signs go, almost burning down my grandmother’s house is a pretty unmistakable one. I’m not only oh-for-two in the baking column, I’m two-for-two in the requiring-fire-department-intervention-when-baking column. We’re talking the Vegas of neon signs here.”

  “The fire was an accident. It didn’t have anything to do with the actual baking.”

  “I inadvertently dumped the cookies off the sheet trying to slide the tray out and they were burning on the bottom of the oven. It was saving the burning cookies that caused me to catch the mitt on fire.”

  “But if they hadn’t slid off the pan, they might have tasted awesome.”

  She just gave him a look that said nice try.

  “Don’t you want to know? I mean, aren’t you a little bit curious? You never even got to taste one.”

  “Bold words from a guy with a very nice kitchen. A very nice kitchen with a gas stove. A gas stove he’s presently blocking with his formidable body. Subconscious stance, maybe. A smart stance, I say.”

  “I’ll help.”

  Her eyebrows climbed halfway up her forehead. Well, one of them did. The other one had been partially singed off. She hadn’t mentioned it after taking her shower, so neither had he. Actually, he thought it was kind of cute. In a classic Parker kind of way. Something he doubted she’d appreciate his saying.

  “I thought you said you steered clear of the kitchen growing up.”

  “I did. I’m not going to help you with the mixing part, but I figure I can put my training to use with the baking part. I can man the stove and handle the cookie sheets.”

  She laughed. “Well, I had thought it would be a good idea to keep the fire department on speed dial, but I guess having a fireman actually posted on duty is even better. Possibly a requirement once Nick files his report.”

  “Hey, we made good lab partners once, right?”

  She flushed a little, smiled. “You’re right. We did.”

  He liked seeing the color come back to her cheeks. “It’s settled then.” He pushed the book across the counter. “Pick a few recipes and make a shopping list.”

  “I wasn’t getting fancy. It was just the basic stuff. Flour, sugar, eggs, butter, you know.”

  “Eggs I have. The rest would be on the list.” He lifted his hands in self defense. “Like I said, I don’t cook. You should probably put cookie sheets on the list, too. And a mixer thingie.”

  “A mixer thingie.” She slowly lowered her forehead to the counter. “I’m so doomed.”

  He came around the table and put his hands on her shoulders, easing the tension with a gentle massage.

  “You have exactly the rest of your life to stop doing that.” She groaned, and went boneless under his ministrations.

  He, on the other hand, went hard as stone. The idea of her all pliant and soft and moaning like that, under him . . . Deciding it was smarter to stay on the other side of the kitchen, he gave her a little pat and walked over to the pantry, willing his body to subside before he had to turn and face her again.

  “Before we do the grocery store run, can we go back to my place so I can get some clothes?”

  “What, you don’t like my fashiona
ble fire department sweats?”

  “I’m thinking you won’t like them when the sleeves droop in the batter, or worse, over a stove-top flame.”

  “Point taken.” He hadn’t wanted to tell her earlier, when she’d still been pretty shocky, that even though her clothes hadn’t been anywhere near the fire, everything in the house likely smelled like burned curtains and cabinets. And that generally that smell wasn’t something a quick run in the washing machine would fix. She had enough on her plate to deal with. They could always make a quick run into one of the local chain stores and pick up a few items to tide her over until she got her clothes professionally cleaned.

  He turned to find her still cradling her head on her arms and decided now was not the time to go into that. He walked to her side and put his hand on her hair, stroking, touching her cheek. “Maybe you should go lie down for a bit. We’re pushing things a bit too hard, too fast here. You need to rest, regroup. I can pick up the groceries and grab a few things for you. We can start the cookie thing later today or this evening.”

  He figured he’d check her closet for sizes and pick up a few pairs of sweats and tees at the sporting goods store. With four sisters and countless Christmases and birthdays behind him, he knew better than to set foot in a woman’s clothing store.

  “I’m fine, I probably just need to eat something. All I’ve had since yesterday is some cookie dough batter and a few anatomically correct gingerbread men.”

  He’d been making a rudimentary list on the back of an envelope, but paused to look up. “What kind of gingerbread men?”

  She laughed, but kept her face buried in her arms. “Never mind.”

  He leaned his elbows on the table. “Seriously. Who makes—wait, not you. Is that what you were baking? Isn’t the Gazette like a family paper?”

  She snort-giggled. “Not me. A friend of mine. She sells them, actually. I was at the charity cookie swap in Pine Mountain last night before coming to the bookstore. Abby made a box up for me and another friend of mine. Lily, I mentioned her before. Who also bakes for a living. Which, when you think about it, makes it even more hilarious that I’m the one doing a cookie column. I mean, they’ve never had to call the fire department even once. And I’m angling to be on the Pine Mountain Fire Department’s next Christmas card list as a frequent caller.”

  “Pine Mountain? I thought when you said two-for-two, you meant the popcorn incident at school as the first time.”

  She lifted her head and gave him that wry, crooked smile. “I’m not counting the popcorn incident. You didn’t exactly stop me from putting the thing in the microwave as I recall. So I only claim collateral responsibility for that one.”

  He tapped her right back. “I didn’t even notice you’d put it in there, or I would have. As I recall, I was . . . distracted.”

  “By what? Certainly not the invertebrate lab we were working on. It’s a miracle we made it through the first half of that semester without flunking out of that class. Professor Cannalis was insane. And possibly also an invertebrate.”

  “I was distracted because it was the first time you’d invited me to study in your dorm room instead of the lab or study hall. You were wearing that green fleece thing and black sweatpants.”

  She groaned. “Yes, guaranteed to make men drool.” She lifted her head and gave him a baleful look. “I can’t believe you remember what I was wearing.” She laughed then, and pushed back up to a sitting position, ruffling her hand through her now-dry curls. “Except it was that awful, wasn’t it? I can’t believe I wore that outfit in front of you. It’s what I wore to study in. I never left the dorm in that.”

  “Awful isn’t the word I’d have used. And I’m glad you never wore it outside the dorm. I liked that you wore it for me.”

  She looked at him as if he’d sprouted two heads. “You’re kidding. It was hideous.”

  “You always dressed so . . . well, not primly, but . . . neatly, I guess.”

  “I dressed in whatever pants I could find that didn’t stop above my ankles and shirts that had sleeves that went all the way to my wrists. Trust me, wasn’t easy. Still isn’t.”

  “All I remember is it was soft and fuzzy and clung to your body like a second skin. You were like some green-fleeced feline goddess in that thing.”

  She stared at him, open mouthed, for a full ten seconds, then barked out a laugh. “And you had clearly suffered from some serious burned-popcorn fumes, my friend, because there was nothing feline about me in or out of that outfit.”

  He merely smiled at her. “You have your memories, I have mine.”

  She eyed him warily, but stretched and slid off the stool. “We should probably get going before it gets dark and the roads turn icy. Are you sure you don’t have to go be a fireman somewhere? I still don’t know if this is the right thing. I should call Fran, tell her what happened, which will take care of my having a job anyway—”

  He’d rounded the table and took her by the elbows, shuffling her right in front of him. “You have to at least try, right? Or else the burned kitchen is for nothing. Just . . . let’s go for the first column and if we can’t pull it off by your deadline, then you can figure out what comes next.”

  She held his gaze for a long beat, then another. “Why are you doing this? I mean, lending me your spare room, your kitchen, that’s one thing. But you said yourself you’re getting prepped for your new job and you must have a million other things you should be doing.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we had a blizzard out there last night. Or parts of the area did, anyway, depending on which side of the mountain you were on. My new office? Is in the blizzard part. I’m not doing anything today. I put in an all-night shift as a volunteer, so I’m off that rotation, too. I—”

  “Should probably get some sleep. You’re the one who needs to rest. I can call Lily and—”

  “Parker.”

  She stopped, and took a breath.

  “I want to help. I can help. And we’re wasting deadline time talking about it. Adults speaking clearly about what they want, remember?”

  “Right. Fine. Okay. I’m just not used to . . . I’m not good at reading situations like this.”

  He tilted her chin up. “There’s nothing to read.” Though, even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t quite true. Even recently soot covered, exhausted, and hungry, there were undercurrents in the undercurrents that were running between them. But there would be time to explore those once they’d met her first deadline. Then he’d decide if he wanted to try and breach her no-men rule. Which, given it was taking pretty much all his willpower not to pull her into his arms and kiss some more life back into her cheeks, was likely to be a brief inner debate.

  “Come on,” he said, possibly a bit more gruffly than he meant to. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll stop and grab a bite to eat on the way.”

  Chapter 6

  “Oh my God, those actually look . . . edible!” Clara stepped back as Will slid the two brand-new cookie sheets from the oven and juggled them on the equally brand-new cooling racks. “Well, they’re not on fire, anyway.”

  Clara was still marveling over Will’s mountain cabin and how beautifully he’d remodeled it. The timber structure was over seventy years old, but everything inside had been gutted and reworked to suit more modern needs. The dining room space had been incorporated into the kitchen space, with the big, heavy wood slab providing plenty of room for food prep on the side facing the oven, sink, and fridge, with room to eat while seated on one of the padded café chairs lined up on the other side.

  From there, the room opened up to the living area, which featured the original stone fireplace. But the main draw was the huge picture window that dominated the back wall of the cabin, with a view over the mountainside. The cabin was isolated, yet it was a pretty straight shot down the mountain road into town. With the leaves off the trees, she could see the valley below, and the vista of the mountains framing the other side. It was breathtaking. And with the snow on
the rear deck railing and the bare tree limbs, almost magical.

  Completing the room was an oversized old couch with a thick quilted throw piled at one end, fronted by a heavy wood coffee table that looked like it had seen its fair share of heavy boot heels resting on it. There was a wooden cabinet on the wall opposite the fireplace, which she assumed held his television or stereo or whatever electronic gadgets he enjoyed.

  She noted right off the books and periodicals stacked on the floor at the end of the couch, and smiled at the idea that though he’d left school, he hadn’t left his love of reading behind. She remembered him complaining that the thing he hated most about the heavy class load was that it left little time or inclination to read for pleasure. They’d shared more books in common than movies, which had been a first for her. It had been another thing that had sealed their friendship bond.

  The other room on the main floor was the master bedroom and adjoining bath, which he’d added on to the original structure. Otherwise, there were just the two small guest rooms on the second floor which shared a bathroom. The one she was staying in had been tastefully if neutrally furnished with a basic double bed, restored antique wooden dresser, and small desk positioned under the dormer window that looked out the front of the house. The one interesting piece was the wardrobe, which appeared too big to have been brought into the room through the narrow doorway, but there it stood. There was no closet built into the room, so it made sense, and she thought it was a rather charming addition. Since the door to the other room was open, she’d noted that it had been turned into a small office of sorts, but she hadn’t really nosed around. She hadn’t seen his bedroom or master bath, either.

  And it was going to stay that way.

  “Wait,” she said, when she saw Will picking up the spatula to slide the cookies off the sheet. She grabbed the cookbook. “It says they need to cool five minutes first.”

  Will lifted his still oven mitted hands up, palms out. “Yes, Chef.”

  “If only.” She edged in front of him and bent over the cookie sheets. “The chocolate chips melted! And they look golden brown, just like the picture.” She straightened. “Mostly I’m just happy they’re not little death balls like the last batch. Or little bricks like the batch before that. I wish I knew what I did different this time to make them turn out right. Or right-looking anyway.”