Page 75 of Not Your Average Vixen
“I followed Grandma’s recipe. But I can tell you that there was absolutely no substance that would cause a psychotropic response in those cookies.” She looked to Soren. “Was there?”
He dropped the jackass vibe. “No, those cookies were plain old cookies.”
“But you danced when you baked them, right?” Lori pressed.
Bridget nodded, really hoping the peanut butter wasn’t pot butter if that was even a thing.
“We did.”
“We?” her sister questioned.
“Yeah, me and Soren.”
Tom’s eyes went wide. “You got Scooter to dance?”
Her gaze bounced between Lori and her fiancé. The last thing she wanted was for them to think anything was going on between her and the worst best man.
“Yes, we danced. And that’s all we did. Just dancing. Nothing else. No hanky-panky. Nothing even remotely close to hanky-panky.”
Why was she saying hanky-panky so many times? She pressed her lips together, vowing to never repeat the words again.
“Why would there be anyhanky-panky? And who says that?” Lori replied, sharing a puzzled look with Tom.
She needed to do some damage control…and fast.
“Not me, and certainly, not him. Soren, Scooter…whatever you want to call this cantankerous man. He doesn’t use the word or participate in hanky-panky either,” she answered, unable to stop the rush of verbal vomit.
Soren stared down at her. “Are you okay? Did you get into the gummy bears again?”
“Birdie, are you feeling better today?” Tom asked, blessedly changing the conversation’s trajectory.
She plastered on a grin. “I feel much better today. Thanks for asking.”
“We looked in on you last night, but you were fast asleep,” Lori added, then turned to Soren. “And thank you for keeping an eye on my sister. Did you get the cookies? We left a few for you on a plate.”
Soren glanced away. “Yeah, I got them.”
That’s what that plate was doing on the bedside table!
“You ate my cookies?” she asked Mr. You-Don’t-Get-Abs-Like-These-Eating-Baked-Goods.
“There wasn’t much else to do,” he mumbled.
“Scooter pulled up a chair next to the bed and fell asleep watching over you,” Tom said with the hint of a grin.
She pinned her Grinch with her gaze. “You did?”
“Don’t you need to frost a cake?” he replied, keeping his features infuriatingly neutral.
This indifferent jackass business wasn’t working on her anymore. She’d seen his passionate side. He was capable of so much more. Why did he fall into this cavalier asshat groove?
“The cakes are ready to go, Birdie. And I want to record as you frost them. You’re like a magician with that spatula,” Lori said, cutting short her little staring contest with Soren.
Bridget frowned. “Why would you want to do that?”
“I follow these baking blogs, and, Birdie, you’re better than all of them.”
Bridget waved her off. “You may be biased, little sister.”
