“Don’t be silly. She’s got you.” I smile widely, but deep inside I wonder if that's the reason he’s playing it cool. “What’s her name?”
“I haven’t thought of one yet.”
“Can I name her?”
He swallows hard, the lump in his throat bobs like I’ve asked him something serious. “Sure,” he says after a beat.
There are little flecks of white fur scattered over the puppy’s coat, reminding me of the starry sky when Hayden kissed me. “How about, Star?”
“Hayden.” Footsteps grow louder as Hank approaches. “Ready?” He assesses us quietly. “Thanks for the water, sweetheart. I bet you miss the bright lights and big city of Belfast, huh?” he quizzes.
“Not really.” I twiddle smooth floppy ears. “And I certainly don’t miss the cold weather. The one thing I do miss is my best friend, Ellie,” I say honestly. “She’s like family.”
“Don’t you miss your parents?” he asks with a hint of disbelief like I’m cold hearted.
The pup wriggles to find a comfortable position in my arms, finally resting her nose to the crook of my neck. “My father works all the time. We aren’t close. He sends me birthday wishes in a text message at the same time every year because his secretary reminds him to.”
“And your mother?” Hank frowns.
“Don’t get me wrong, Hank. My parents have given me everything, except…” Hayden folds his arms patiently. “Except their time. I mean, didn’t you think it was odd how she sent me here, so far away from home? It’s easier to push me away than deal with me.” I’ve never given it much thought until I arrived here and watched how Hayden and Hank interact with each other.
“Can you look after Star this afternoon?” Hayden stares at me, having just called the pup by her new name. “Just make sure she’s out of the sun and has a full water bowl. Before you leave, shut the door, so she doesn’t escape. She’s not trained to be around the ranch yet. There are too many dangers out here.”
“I’d love to!” Star sighs sweetly, and I bury my face in her fur. “Come on, cutie pie, let's leave the men to work.”
Star is perfectly content in my arms when I bring her indoors. She’s reluctant to leave when I crouch down and set her on the cold floor. Big eyes gaze up at me like she wants to cry. Instantly, I fall for her charm. I look around for her bowl. It’s only then that I realize I haven’t seen it before now, sitting by the larder.
Hayden was different today, he was standoffish and distant. He still looked handsome, if not a touch cold. Perhaps a sweet tasty treat would make him smile. And no, I don't mean my lips, even though that would be the ultimate scenario.
With Star curled up in the makeshift bed, I search online for gluten-free cookie recipes at beginners’ level. The picture on the cute website makes the cookies look scrumptious. Not the sexiest thing I could offer a guy, but I have no idea how the men out here think. I’m not going to risk wearing another slinky dress, or naked cleaning. I’ll rename the cookies as ‘Raisin Cookies to Die For’. If that doesn’t make him want to lay his lips all over me, then I’ll have to try plan B. And no, I have no plan B on the table yet.
For a kitchen in the country, they sure do have plenty of baking accessories. I find a cupboard stacked with baking trays and mixing bowls, but what's a paddle attachment or baking soda? American’s call fizzy drinks, soda, maybe it’s that? As I find each item on the checklist, I set it on the counter in preparation for the baking extravaganza. It won’t matter if there are a few ingredients missing, surely. There’s only a bag of regular flour and no coconut flour. I guess it will have to do. A small bit of gluten won’t matter that much. They’re for Hayden, not me.
After following the steps, I end up with a mound of goop, minus vanilla extract, raisins, and cinnamon. I add a few splashes of fizzy orange (soda for baking purposes, obviously) from a can in the fridge. It bubbles up, and I witness the magic happen. These cookies will be the best he’s ever tasted. The smiling baker lady on the website categorized those ingredients as store cupboard staples. I couldn't find the others. It won’t matter, I’ve added extra honey to compensate for their no show. She also instructed me to wrap up the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for half an hour, but that was a step too far. I don't have all day, and it won’t change the taste. I slop the mixture directly onto a large baking sheet in messy globules and grin happily at my achievement. So, this is how it feels to cook for a man, even though he’s not exactly my man, but I’m excited to know he’ll enjoy my baked goods. They will be warm and soft and gooey, just like the celebrity baker said they would be at the top of her simple recipe.
There are too many nobs and numbers on the oven. I crank up the temperature, following her lead, and then I turn the dial a little higher, for luck. Surely, they will cook quicker with a higher temperature, allowing me to do a taste test before Hayden returns.
Once they hit the heat, I close the oven door and peer in through the glass. Each cookie creeps across to join with its neighbor. They’ve become a slab of greatness instead of individual offerings. I’ll find a cookie cutter and make adorable shapes or else I’ll cut them up with creative flare.
I’d made quite a mess in the baking process, dusting flour on the surfaces, and as I look down, it's all over Star’s back. She doesn’t mind, but I think Hayden would be happier if she was flour free and had a Raisin Cookie to Die For in his belly.
The smell of sweet warm cookies hasn’t permeated the kitchen yet, so I decide to clean Star and then marvel at my handy work afterwards. I set the timer on my phone for twelve minutes, gather up Star and lug her into Hayden’s shower room. His bed looks so enticing, like a warm hug from his protective arms, but I quickly discard the idea of laying down because there’s work to be done. It’s not like me to be so dedicated or domestic. I like the person I’m becoming, whoever she may be.
Star fusses under the lukewarm jets, but once she becomes accustomed to the gentle flow, the little thing sits down and stares up at me with intrigued brown eyes. We pretend she is at the salon. Okay, I speak to her like I am the hairdresser, and she just gazes back at me like I have horns. My voice soothes her, and that is what’s important.
With a gentle towel dry, her coat is still damp, but free from baking debris. By the time we wander out of Hayden's room, the alarm dings. A potent smell wafts into the hallway from the kitchen. It’s definitely not cozy cookie seduction, rather a charred discord of various types of... burnt.
The professional liar stated twelve minutes or until the edges are a light brown. I peer inside the jaws of molten death to check out my creation, and those edges around the massive cookie monster are a shade of black. I’ve made Franken-Cookie. An ugly-looking thing that will hopefully taste better than it looks. How could it not, I almost followed her guidance flawlessly, using a touch of smarts to overcome a few hurdles?
I know Hayden will be back soon, so I have to clean up the devastation of the sticky bowl and broken eggshells before he sees it. When he comes in, I want the Raisin Cookies to Die For plated and the kitchen tidy. He will fall in love, or better still, take me on a date. Who said prison had to be boring?
When I yank open the oven door, a puff of hot air stings my face. Through silted eyes, I wrestle with the aluminum tray. It’s not easy to grab and lift with an oven mitt bigger than my head. When the mass tips to the side, Franken-Cookie doesn't budge. It’s welded down, and now I realize why she recommended the use of parchment.
There's a fish slice in the drawer, but when I shove it beneath the edge, I find myself needing to be aggressive to shove it under. Franken-Cookie crumbles and cracks. My first attempt at being a domestic culinary goddess has failed.
With all the drama and disappointment, I didn't notice the heavy boots hit the doormat.
“Summer? You want to tell me what the fuck was in the oven.” Hayden is standing right behind me, and my beast, Franken-Cookie. There’s nowhere to hide and definitely nowhere to run. Star stays at my heel and stares up with supportive, friendly eyes. Who can’t make simple cookies? This girl. Even the celebrity baker bitch said they were the easiest cookies to bake. I hate her. I’m going to unsave her website from my phone.
