Page 51 of Snow Storm

“I don’t know what to say,” Harley admitted.

“It’s science,” Lyric said helplessly.

“I know?—”

“It’s abasicrecipe.”

“I know?—”

“You just follow the steps and, you know, bam. Cookies!”

Harley pressed his hands over his face. “Iknow. I told you I can’t bake. I can cook myself like six things, which is fine because I’ve never really eaten a wide variety anyway, but there’s a reason I quit experimenting in the kitchen.”

Lyric glanced at the thing in her hand. “Well, it’s too bad he doesn’t play hockey.” She dropped the cookie onto the plate and winced at the loud clink. Mercifully, it didn’t shatter. “So, we have two options.” She held up her hand and ticked one finger. “One, I do a new batch and we lie through our teeth and say it was all you.”

Harley quickly shook his head and held up his hands in surrender. “Absolutely not. Because if he likes them, he’ll ask me to bake them again, and it’ll only end in disaster.”

“Okay, then we try and try until you have some kind of success rate.”

Harley smiled softly at her. “You’re sweet, but I’m not going to bleed the resort dry of sugar, flour, and eggs because that is what will happen long before I can make an edible cookie. Trust me, when I’m bad at something, I’m bad at it. There’s no fixing who I am.”

She stared morosely at the plate. “Peanut butter cookies,” she muttered to herself. “They’re arguably the easiest cookies to make. There’s, like, built-in oils to make them soft and squishy.” She looked up at him and frowned. “I know a food scientist who would love to study you.”

Harley flushed and wrapped his arms around his middle. He knew she wasn’t being cruel, but her words sounded a lot like the gentle mockery he’d been suffering his entire life. He didn’t like being bad at things, but he hadn’t lied to Claude when he said that when he had no talent for something, it turned into a disaster.

There was no saving this. Or him.

And he hated feeling like a failure.

“Well. We should throw these away,” he said quietly.

“Or we can dip them in coffee and see if that makes them edible,” came a voice from behind them.

Harley spun around a little too fast and almost lost his balance, but it was Claude’s voice, and he wanted to burst into tears of relief, knowing he was okay. He was bright red in his cheeks, and his knuckles looked so dry and cracked they had to be painful, but he was in his chair without a coat, and he was smiling.

“You’re here,” Harley breathed.

Claude raised a brow. “Yes. This is my house. Where you two are…baking?”

“These are my terrible cookies that I made a mess of. Harley had nothing to do with it,” Lyric said, throwing her upper body over the plate.

Claude snorted and held his hands out for Harley, who walked into his embrace. He was tugged down onto Claude’s lap and kissed within an inch of his life. “I’m fine without peanut butter cookies,” Claude murmured against his lips.

Harley knocked their foreheads together. “Theyweremine. And they’re the worst things in the world. Please don’t dip them in coffee. Throw them away. I do not want to be responsible for what they might do to your guts.”

Claude grimaced. “I might take you up on that. Mine are a little sensitive.”

Harley kissed him. “I wouldn’t even wish them on my ex. Well…maybe my ex. But no one else.”

Claude laughed and rested his forehead against Harley’s shoulder. “Lyric, ma chérie, please leave.”

“What?” She squared her shoulders in protest.

Claude lifted his head and looked around Harley’s shoulder. “I love you very much, but I need you to leave.”

“I—oooh. Yes. Okay. Love you, bye!”

She was grabbing her coat and out the door before Harley could ask. When the door slammed, Claude let out a heavy sigh and leaned back, bringing his dry, cool hand to Harley’s cheek. “Why were you two baking cookies?”

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