Page 93 of Gone for You

“I probably am, being right all the time.”

“Isn’t hearing supposed to be one of the first things to go in the elderly?”

She rolls her eyes and sips her coffee.

“Wait, you cleaned? And made cookies? Already?” How is that possible?

She wiggles her fingers. “I’m magic. I trained for years to do the ten-minute clean up before people came over, having thirty minutes was like child’s play. And besides, it’s not completely clean. This was the preliminary run. I knew you’d need cookies so I made the dough at home and brought it with me. There’s more in the fridge for you for later.”

She’s the best. “Cookies first?”

Without hesitation, a plate of warm cookies is placed in my waiting hands and I moan at the first bite. Soft, chewy, just the right amount of chocolate per dough ratio. I’m burning the crap out of my tongue because they’re fresh out of the oven, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what she does but whatever pixie dust she sprinkles makes these the most amazing little nuggets of yum.

“I don’t know what you do to these but they’re so damn good.”

She smiles over her shoulder as she loads more dishes into the dishwasher.

“Ever since you were a little girl, it’s been the one thing that worked for you.”

“They’re so good,” I tell her something she already knows, shoving my third cookie into my mouth.

“Let’s get to work. Now, I’ve cleaned most of the surface crud but you’re helping me with the rest.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“Yup.”

For the next six hours, I try to sneak cookies in while we’re cleaning. She helps me gather all my dirty laundry and start washing, folding, and putting away. When we’re finished, everything is sparkling and smells nice.

My fridge is cleaned out and filled with actual food and I feel like Olivia again.

We collapse onto the couch and she pulls me in close, letting me rest my head on her shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Mom.”

“You don’t have to thank me. But you do need to tell me what’s going on.”

There’s a knock on the door and I jump up, rushing to grab our sandwiches. My fridge might be stocked now, but neither of us had the energy to cook anything so we ordered in.

“It’s storytime,” Mom says and by the look on her face, I’m not entirely sure it’s going to be a happily ever after.

Chapter 41

Ethan

“Get out!”I yell, pointing to the door for good measure.

“You can’t kick me out of here for ordering a Tequila Sunrise.”

“Like hell I can’t,” I growl.

“Like hell you can!” she shouts. “Wait. Did that make sense?” she asks her friends who just shrug.

“It’s a stupid drink and it’s not spring break and this isdefinitelynot Cancun.”

“It most certainly is not. The bartenders there are far sexier and far friendlier for one,” she smarts back with a sneer.

“Like I give a fuck.”

“One Tequila Sunrise, comin’ right up,” Rex says, leaning close and giving me a look that I’m sure is supposed to warn me to shut the hell up and start being nice.

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