Page 14 of The Interception
Geez. I shake the image of kissing her from my head. “Sorry, say that again.”
“Funnel cake batter?”
At first, I cringe, then I remember that my barbecue sauce is hot and tangy. With beef and cheese, it’s entirely possible we might have a fun, sweet-and-spicy thing going.
“Let’s try it.” I move to heat up the oil fryer while Layne makes everything else we need. Once she’s done with the cheese filling, I make the meatballs and let her work on the funnel cake batter. I check the oil to make sure it’s ready, then skewer a meatball and dip it in the batter. The heavenly scent of her funnel cake wafts toward us and she smiles.
“This might actually work out. Got that sauce ready, Champ?”
“Champ?” I ask, pausing my work.
“Yeah, six-time winner and pro football running back. Seemed to fit.” She glances up at me, takes in my expression—because I’m not so sure I like hearing her call me the same thing my grandfather calls me—and scoffs. “Oh, just cook the meatball and leave me alone to worry.”
I chuckle and motion toward the bench beside us. “Sauce is there if you want to warm it while I cook all of these.”
“Good idea putting them on a skewer,” she adds. “They’re like the weirdest little twisted beef wellington pops imaginable, but they smell good.”
When the sauce is warm and most of the meatballs are done, I plate them up and hand them to her. “Let’s try them before we cook them all, that way we can change course if we need to with what’s left.”
“Fair enough.” She accepts the plate and pours sauce into a dipping bowl. “Ready or not, here we go.” Layne takes a skewered meatball and dips it in the sauce, blows on it, then huffs and puffs through a bite. It’s adorable, and I’m too busy watching her to bother taste-testing it myself. “Okay, too hot to know what it actually tastes like. Let me try again.”
This time, she blows on it and tests it with her tongue before dipping it. She bites, chews, and stops cold.
Oh no.
“That bad?” I ask, picking one up.
“Yes. Horrible. Let me take these away so you don’t have to suffer the same fate my tongue just suffered.” She snatches the plate away and takes another bite while crossing the room with an armful of battered meatballs.
“Something tells me you’re lying to me. Come back here with those.” I round the table and she squeals, breaking into a jog around to the other side. “What are you doing? Get back here!” I finally tackle the table and climb over it, eliciting another squeal. She tries to dodge and go another way, but I cut her off and grab her around the waist. Spinning her around almost makes her drop everything.
“I should have known better than to try to outmaneuver you. Here, you can have one.” She hands me a meatball and lets me dip it in the sauce. I manage to blow on it without letting her get too far and take a bite. Holy cow…the cow is good. “You said it was bad, Layne.”
“I didn’t want to share.” She takes another bite and shrugs.
“That’s not nice.” I don’t mean to, but I cage her in. She’s back against a counter holding a plate of meatballs in one hand, a meatball on a stick in the other, and I settle both hands on either side of her, pinning her against the table.
I’ve gone and done it now. The thing I was worried I’d do without proper adult supervision. I’ve put myself in an awkward position that requires one of two things—an epic kiss, or an even more awkward maneuver to get myself out of this one. Layne’s focus shifts from the plate to my face, her eyes searching mine, likely in an attempt to figure out what I’m doing right now.
Fortunately, I don’t have to explain or try to get out of it. Leo, unbeknownst to him, saves me from myself.
He steps through the doorway and clears his throat. “Hey, kiddos, what’s…what’s cookin’?”
I leap away from Layne and clear my throat. “Leo. Hi. Hey, we were um…here, taste this.” I practically yank the plate away from Layne and shove it toward Leo, who eyes me like he just caught me doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.
Well I was, and he did. Thank goodness.
Leo eyes me but takes the plate and dips one of the skewers in the sauce. With a wary expression, he takes a bite. And another. And one more for good measure. “Dude, this is a winner. Can I have another one?”
“Sure. Have all you want,” Layne says and pushes off the counter. “Um, I just remembered I need to make a phone call. Are we decided then? This is our recipe?”
“Sure, yeah. I think it’s a winner,” I say, confused by her sudden change in personality. She’s rushing, almost frantic. Okay, I shouldn’t be confused by this. I freaked her out, and she’s trying to escape.
“Awesome. See you in the morning then!” she calls and rushes toward the exit while grappling with her tote bag. She doesn’t even stick around to help me clean up the disastrous mess we made.
Probably because the one I made is even bigger.
I glance around and notice the jars of sauce she made. “Oh, Layne!” I rush to the door and call down the hall. “You forgot your sauce!”
