Page 33 of Burden to Bear

Over the last few weeks, the mere thought of smelling eggs—something I typically loved eating for breakfast—was enough to make me queasy. Not wanting to buy them in hopes that would change, only to throw them out later, I decided against purchasing them altogether. Needing them for baking hadn’t crossed my mind.

And while I could have hopped in my car and driven to the store to pick up a dozen, I was desperate for the lemon cookies. Leaving would have delayed everything, so I thought I’d see if Brock could loan me two eggs that I’d replace later for him.

I’d seen him throughout the last week as we both got home from work each day. We’d chat for a few minutes before heading into each of our homes, but this would be the first I’d be back at his house since I left a week ago when I had lunch with him and Izzy.

I marched over there this morning, explained I was just about to start making something and realized I didn’t have eggs, and all but begged him for two of them. He happily handed them over, insisting I didn’t need to worry about replacing them.

I was delighted, practically skipping back to my house to get started on my cookies. After mixing the ingredients and getting them lined up on a baking dish, I was in my glory. As they baked in the oven, I was convinced I’d died and gone to Heaven.

But the moment I took them out and allowed them to cool slightly before taking a bite, I wanted to hurl. No matter that the house smelled utterly divine, I couldn’t stomach the taste of the cookies.

Since I didn’t want them to go to waste, I thought it was only fair to bring them over for Brock to enjoy. But I had a feeling he was going to think I was crazy.

Clearly, he already had some thoughts about me needing eggs to bake cookies being the reason I was on his doorstep so early this morning.

“What kind are they?” he asked, surprising me.

“Lemon. Do you like lemon cookies?” I asked.

There was an extended silence, and I could only assume he was either trying to find a nice way to tell me he hated lemon cookies or attempting to recall if he actually enjoyed them.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had a lemon cookie,” he finally replied.

“Really? Oh, they’re so good,” I insisted, holding back that I believed they were repulsive at the moment.

Brock and I walked into his house, and he immediately moved to wash his hands at the kitchen sink. I set the cookies down on the counter and waited. He grabbed a towel and dried off his hands, and for some reason I couldn’t explain, my eyes were drawn to his forearms. I didn’t know if it was the movement of his hands in the towel that caused the muscles in his forearms to flex that had me so distracted, but I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from them.

God, it had been a long time since I’d been held by a man. And Brock was a big guy, a strong guy. I bet it would have felt marvelous to be held in his arms.

“Are you okay?”

The sound of his voice snapped me out of my stupor, forcing me to jerk back and shake my head. “What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He narrowed his eyes, assessing me quietly. I didn’t know what he was thinking, if he thought I was completely full of myself, and he didn’t share. Instead, he pointed to the plate of cookies and asked, “Can I try one of those now?”

Nodding, I pushed the plate in his direction and insisted, “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Brock uncovered the cookies, his eyes widening in shock. “Holy crap. These are all for me?”

“If you want them.”

He seemed surprised by my response, but he lifted a cookie from the plate and took a huge bite. It wasn’t difficult to recognize the instant the flavors hit his tongue. His entire expression changed, and he quickly popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth before reaching for a second one.

He liked them.

Relief swept through me.

After swallowing the last bite of the first cookie, Brock shook the second one in his hand and declared, “I’ve always been a traditional chocolate chip cookie lover, but I think this is easily the best thing I’ve ever tasted, dessert or otherwise.”

I smiled at him. “Really?”

He took another massive bite. “Without a doubt. They have such a soft, slightly chewy texture, and I’m not sure if it’s because they’re practically just out of the oven or the lemon flavor, but they taste so fresh.”

I let out a laugh. “It’s probably a bit of both. And I’m glad you like them, because they’re all yours then.”

“That’s very nice of you, Mia. Thanks. What’s in these?” he asked.

I inhaled deeply, hoping I’d recall everything, and said, “Flour, baking powder, salt, butter, sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest, lemon and vanilla extract, and well, eggs.”

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