Page 34 of Pour Decisions
It’s dead. And I’m all pent up without any kind of release, and filled with guilt for nearly blowing up his house.
I sigh and go to the bathroom to clean up a bit. Better to get over the awkwardness now than later. I go into the kitchen and start preheating the oven. Since trying some of Sarah Jane’s treats, I’ve been craving more sweets than usual. I’m not a great baker, but I have a few things up my sleeve. JD has a sweet tooth, even if his jacked form says otherwise.
Is this too much? I would have baked cookies anyway. But baking cookies and leaving them there is different than baking cookies and bringing them as an offering.
Oh, fuck it. I want to make him the cookies. He loves them and I might have messed up his electricity. It’s the least I can do.
I turn on some music and start throwing together some cookies with peanut M&Ms in them. They don’t take long to mix up and bake, and soon the only hard part is waiting for them to cool down.
I manage to find restraint, and only pop them off the cookie sheet, arranging a bunch on a plate. I pour him a big glass of milk too and head to his office.
He’s frowning at his computer screen, with what I assume are blue light glasses sliding down his nose. They make him look unfairly attractive.
Bubba’s tail thumps on the ground, alerting JD that I’m there. His eyebrows lift in surprise.
“These are an apology for nearly burning your house down,” I say, putting the cookies and milk at the edge of his desk. Bubba lifts his nose to get a better sniff, so I push them further from the edge. “And working on a Saturday requires treats.”
JD blinks. “You didn’t almost burn the house down, Kat.”
“I could have. What if the power hadn’t gone out? I could have at least started a small fire.” I steal a cookie off his plate and one side of his mouth creeps up. “Cookie tax. There are more in the kitchen if you want more.”
He picks one up and takes a bite at the same time I do. The tiniestmmescapes his lips and it hits me like he just fell to his knees to praise me.
“Well, thank you. Even though I feel like this was just an excuse for you to make cookies.” Again, that tiny almost-smile of his. But this time it broadens, and if I’m not imagining things, the tips of his ears go pink.
Oh god. Bashful JD is like the opposite side of the same coin as in-a-wet-clingy-shirt JD—both versions of him make me melt.
“Maybe. It’s a rainy day, so why not?” I bite my bottom lip before I say anything else. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thanks, kitten,” he says. My heart stutters, and this time, the redness very clearly climbs up his neck. “Kat. Sorry.”
I stuff the rest of the cookie into my mouth and walk back to the kitchen, overthinking absolutely everything that’s happened today.
With all theoverthinking I’ve been doing about JD, I’ve hardly thought about dinner tonight with my mom. I should have—questions about whether she knew about her ex being paid off to not press charges against JD are still in the back of my head.
Now my thoughts are an absolute mess. At least it’s just the two of us since her boyfriend is out of town on business.
I pick up a bottle of wine on the way to Mom’s new place, which is in a completely new area of Jepsen. The houses are all cookie-cutter and suburban, but nice.
“Hi, Trina!” Mom says, throwing open the door. We look a lot alike, but she’s shorter and cuts her hair close to her scalp. “Come in. Thank you for the wine. Let me give you a little tour!”
The house inside is nice too, but they haven’t decorated much. The walls and furniture are neutral. The only personal touches are Mom’s ten billion throw pillows, plus some photos of her boyfriend and his kids. He looks nice. Normal. Thank god.
The men Mom dates and marries (my dad excluded) have always had something off about them, whether minor or major. So this guy is already a step up.
“And this kitchen!” Mom puts the bottle of wine down on the island. “This island is so big. And the stove is gas.”
“Mom, you hardly cook.” I laugh and glance at what’s on the stove. “Speaking of, what’s for dinner?”
Mom gives me a sheepish smile and opens the oven, revealing a pan. “Lasagna that I got from the store’s deli section. But I did make this garlic bread and salad, sort of from scratch.”
I smile. “Sounds delicious.”
I help her bring the lasagna, garlic bread, salad, and wine to the breakfast nook since it has a nicer view into the small backyard. We dig into the lasagna first.
“Wow, this is from the grocery store?” I ask. “This is super good.”
“Yeah, the one that’s a little bourgie. It’s new and next to my office,” she says. “The job is finally calm enough for me to take nice lunch breaks.”
