“Cookies!” the twins squealed.
Mom bustled into the living room holding the very same container, now packed full of a fresh batch.
“Rachel, did you see who left these? How very thoughtful!”
“No,” I grumbled.
“Speak up, speak—”
“No!” I shouted so loud that Mom frowned at me. “I didn’t see… I have no idea. It’s probably a prank. Wouldn’t eat them if I were you.”
I added this last bit because the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies had been, in fact, delicious, and I wanted them all to myself again.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mom headed into the kitchen. “Must’ve been a neighbor.”
“Ooh, a neighbor,” the twins trilled, staring at me with buggy eyes. I drew one finger across my throat, but they ignored the threat and made smooching noises at me as they followed Mom into the kitchen.
For the rest of the evening, that Tupperware drew my eyes as if it were a naughty picture of Christopher Butkus himself. I tried to ignore it, but my gaze drifted toward it as we ate dinner, as I made coffee and washed dishes.The most incredible woman I’ve ever met. Think I’m in love with you.
Bizarre. Embarrassing.
No way I could ever be with someone like you.
If he had refilled the cookie container, what did that mean? Did it mean that my words hadn’t burned that bridge as effectively as I’d hoped? Had I really hoped that?
The more time passed, the more I wondered if I had overreacted. Truth be told, I had never actually entertained the idea ofChristopher Butkus as a romantic partner. He was always a joke: first as someone my mom foisted upon me, then as an obnoxious tech bro, then as someone I maybe, sometimes, occasionally enjoyed talking to—and who could swim to a girl’s rescue without a second thought. But as a man I could see myself with? As a handsome man with shapely biceps and strong hands, with a smooth jaw and the clean scent of cologne emanating from the warmth of his skin—
What? No!
No, Rachel, absolutely not. I really had to stop reading these romance novels. My mind had sustained a serious shock; it was weak and susceptible to inappropriate fantasizing.
After dessert and coffee, the family went for a nighttime Jacuzzi soak. I chose instead to curl up on the porch sofa with a blanket, having no desire to submerge myself in water again. I only slightly regretted my choice, as the sofa reminded me of the conversation I’d had on it mere hours before.
“I really do wish we knew who had left those delicious cookies so we could repay the favor.” Mom’s voice carried over the sound of the bubbling jets. Jane, squished between Dad and Owen, glanced over at me. I couldn’t read her expression. We’d barely spoken since we’d gotten home from the river. I was itching to tell her everything Christopher had said, but I assumed she was still mad at me.
“How would you repay them? Bake them cookies? Like a never-ending cookie showdown?” Abby laughed.
“I don’t think we need any more snark from you two today,” I snapped.
Abby glared at me and then turned to Mom. “Maybe it was Christopher Butkus. We saw the Butkuses today.”
Mom’s squawk of reply was lost in a splash; she seemed to have lost her balance on the edge of the hot tub.
“Christopher—Christopher Butkus?” Mom swiveled her head to look at me.
“Shh.” I was unable to stop my eyes from flicking toward the dark woods in the direction of the Butkuses’ cabin. I didn’t really think Christopher would be lurking nearby to spy on us, but still.
Mom followed my gaze, her face becoming apoplectic.
“They’re here? Rachel? You knew? They must think us so rude! We haven’t even said hello.”
“We didn’t ask them to come to Leavenworth. It’s okay. They didn’t even leave a note on the cookies. Maybe they weren’t from them.”
“Or maybe,” Abby continued, her tone becoming aggressive, “they were. It would make sense, since Christopher was here earlier declaring his love for Rachel.”
There was a long silence punctuated with little splashes, during which I contemplated what it would be like to steal Dad’s car and take off into the night so I’d never have to speak to Mom or the twins again. This fantasy was a brief distraction from the exponentially mounting tension; we all knew the longer Mom stayed silent, the worse the explosion would be.
Finally, I shouted, “Oh my God, just say something!” right as Mom roared, “RACHEL RENÉE WEISS?”
