Page 18 of Love By the Slice

Shelly paced the room she rented in a house that, to its credit, held heat like a thermos. Whoever had built it in the eighteen hundreds had a healthy respect for the outdoors, so the building stood like a fortress against snow, sleet, freezing rain, hail, and ice. Sometimes, all at once.

Today, in fact.

Attempting to channel Greg’s boundless supply of hopefulness, Shelly put on her jacket, gloves, hat, and boots, then went into the driveway to excavate her car.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket while she was attempting to unlock the frozen-shut driver’s side door so she could access the snow brush and ice scraper. She pulled it free of her pocket and read the message while snowflakes landed on the screen.

Ezra: “Don’t even think of driving here.”

Shelly’s car seemed to be in cahoots with Ezra. The phone kept picking up snow, and she shoved it back in her pocket.

The car door wasn’t going to open, so Shelly returned to the house door. That, fortunately, did.

In the dooryard, she stamped the snow off her boots and fought her inclination to keep her coat and hat and gloves on.Once the snow melted, she’d just be wet. She did, however, keep wearing her scarf. In the kitchen, with her fingertips still numb, she dried off the phone and texted her brother, “I’m staying put.”

Ezra replied, “Lacey’s closing down. You know how it goes: ‘I don’t feel like cooking in this storm, so I’ll make someone else drive food to me.’”

Shelly replied, “You’ll lose money.”

Ezra sent, “I can live with that. Literally.”

Next, Shelly flipped on the kettle and texted Greg, “Remember how you said it would all work out?”

He replied, “Yeah, it’s not looking so good.”

“I’m not driving in this.”

She wanted to text so much more. She wanted to say,We could have done this yesterday.Or,Why didn’t you believe me that the weather could turn on a dime? We’ve both lived in Maine all our lives, so why the ignorance? You’re not stupid, so why would you act that way? It’s not like we can make the cookies tomorrow when you have work and I have classes.

There was optimism and confidence, and there was also six inches of wintery mix because of not looking at reality.

The whole attraction of your optimism is it buoys me up, but come on.Shelly folded her arms and stared into the grey-white dullness outside the window.Maybe you needed a little realism for once.

Greg texted, “Do you want to get started on the cookies?”

She stared at her phone. “Did you miss where I said I’m not driving? You’re not driving, either.”

He replied, “Do you have an oven? Do you have a phone with a camera?”

She was starting to reply when her phone rang with an incoming video call. She answered, and Greg’s smiling face made her smile, too.

He looked brilliant, and it buoyed her. “We’re going to bake together despite Maine not wanting us to. Do you have chocolate chips?”

“Not even close.”

“Not a problem. Do you have flour?”

Shelly herself didn’t have flour, but one of her housemates did. The general rule was you could share with each other as long as you admitted it, replaced it, and didn’t take anything obviously earmarked for something else. “Yes.”

Greg said, “That makes it easier. Sugar? Eggs?”

He ran down a list of ingredients, and Shelly wandered the kitchen finding them all. Butter? Yes. Baking soda and baking powder? Um, both? Yes. Vanilla extract? That was harder to find, but yes. Meanwhile, Greg was just…excited. “If you don’t have eggs, you can substitute with the liquid from a can of chickpeas.”

“In what world would I not have an egg, but would have a can of chickpeas?” Shelly asked. “As it turns out, yes, there’s an egg.”

“And an oven…?” he teased. “Otherwise you’re going to have to figure out how to balance a baking sheet on your car’s engine block.”

“I’m sure that wouldn’t add interesting smells to the cookies. Here,” Shelly added, pitching her voice higher as if she were upselling a customer, “enjoy this motor oil chip cookie!”

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