Page 135 of Desserts for Stressed People

Lacing both hands behind his head, he observes me eating. Content. Satisfied. Peaceful.

“Do you understand the possibilities of this?” I ask, opening up the second cookie and licking the filling.

“I really don’t.” He crosses his arms and sits by my side, his lips twitching.

“Well, now you can make me all kinds of Oreos. Nutella Oreos, pistachio Oreos, chocolate ganache Oreos.”

His head lightly shakes. “Oh, what have I done?”

“You doomed me to a life of diabetes.”

He leans closer, placing his hand on my knee and kissing my wrist. “Is this your favorite dessert, Heaven?”

As I study his face, I can’t tell whether he wants me to be honest or to keep playing. On the one hand, I think this might just be my favorite dessert, but on the other, seeing him try to find something I love more than packaged Oreos for the past two years has been the highlight of my life.

In the end, I opt for honesty. It’s a policy that’s worked out quite well for us up until this very moment. “This is one hundred percent my favorite dessert.”

He closes his eyes with a smile. It’s almost like he can rest now that he baked my favorite dessert. Is it something primal? Maybe it’s the equivalent of cavemen hunting for food. He wants to be the one who bakes the pastries that will make me the happiest.

It’s cute. But now we’re done playing this game, I guess.

“Okay.” He slaps his thighs and gets up. “Now—there must be something you’ll love more than homemade Oreos, right? Some desserts require days of preparation, tens of ingredients. I refuse to believe my girlfriend’s favorite dessert is a damn chocolate cookie with a bland sugar filling.”

Oh, he’s more than cute. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, followed by these homemade Oreos. Standing, I cup his face with both hands and press my lips against his. “So you’ll keep trying?”

“I’ll never stop.”

We grin against each other’s mouths, the door to the shop opening and the bell over it jingling. “Hello, disgustingly happy couple! Aren’t you past that phase in which you make everyone around you want to barf?”

“Hi,Paradise.” Shane kisses my forehead and turns to Emma, her blonde hair up in a messy bun and her lips opened in the most shiny smile. “What can I get you this morning?”

“A blueberry muffin, a cappuccino, and a slice of black forest cake.” Emma must notice our curious stares, because she shrugs. “The cake’s for my lunch break.”

“Hm. Coming right up.”

Once Shane enters the shop, Emma sits down at the table, then has the audacity to try and snatch one of my cookies. Slapping her hand away, I shake my head. “You’re gonna have to start paying him for what you eat, you know?”

“Please. This place is always packed. I’m sure he’s making more money than you and me combined.” She tilts her head and bats her lashes. “Plus, helovesme. I’m his new best friend.”

“I remember the good times in which you weremybest friend.” I sip my ginger tea, watching as a mom and her daughter sit at one of the tables with a plate of homemade Oreos. See? Game changer.

“Good times, my ass,” Emma mumbles. “I barely ate any pastries at all. When I did, they were not for free.”

As Shane brings Emma her order, she rushes me to the back to get ready. Fifteen minutes later, I’m wearing one of the dresses I left in the back for the days I sleep here. They happen maybe a tad too often.

Emma is still having breakfast at the table outside, but next to her sits a man I’ve never seen before. “What—” I point at her, and Shane looks up from the cash register.

“Oh, yeah. A customer. She met him a minute ago.”

Of course she did. Some things never change, thank God.

My phone rings, and I take it out of the pocket, following Shane to the back. “Uh! Look, look!”

He fake-groans, then motions at me to answer as he sets a tray of cookies down on the wooden counter.

“Hello?” I say, pressing the green button and the speaker.

“Hi, Heaven! How are you? Listen, I worked past midnight yesterday, so I’ll take the morning to get some sleep.”

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