Page 75 of The Love Losers

“I’m unpopular at funerals,” I add through gusts of laughter.

When we return to the house, we go back to the kitchen to make our cookies. I’ve never had more fun making a pristine place dirty. I throw flour at Anthony when he objects to the way I’m measuring ingredients, and he tosses sprinkles at me in retribution. I catch a few on my tongue, and the rest fall to the floor in a rainbow.

We put the cookies in the oven, and Anthony lifts me onto the counter, steps in between my legs, and we make out in the middle of the mess like we’re a couple of teenagers, his hand rubbing me through my leggings.

“The cookies are going to burn,” I murmur into his lips.

“I don’t care.”

We’re pulling out the first batch when Mrs. Rosings finally comes home.

“Anthony?” she calls. “Anthony?”

“We’re in the kitchen,” he calls, then glances around, taking in the mess, and grins at me. “You think I’m about to get grounded?”

“Probably. But if you play your cards right, I’ll sneak into your bedroom tonight.”

“Nope, too dangerous,” he says, sweeping flour off my cheek with the back of his finger. “I guess you have to stay forever.”

Then he kisses me as a delicious distraction so he can lean in and tickle my side. I’m laughing so hard I’m doubled over when Mrs. Rosings comes in, which only makes me laugh harder. The look of shock on her face when she sees her proper, dutiful son in the middle of this massacre of a kitchen is classic. It should be framed and hung on the wall of the drawing room next to the portraits of her children.

Once she overcomes her shock, she clears her throat and says, “Is your plan to drive around town in a white van and offer prospective wives cookies?”

“That sounds hard,” I say. “I figured I’d save myself some effort and marry him instead.” My heart is beating hard for two reasons. Reason One: Mrs. Rosings is pretty intimidating, and if she doesn’t like me, she’ll be a fierce adversary. Reason Two: Nicole. I’ve only received two texts from her.

I’m here and it’s cold as fuck.

And:

Holy shit, Hershey Park is real? I thought it was a joke.

Mrs. Rosings’s eyebrows rise. “I do appreciate efficiency.”

“Want a cookie?”

She regards the slap-dash cookies with skepticism, then shrugs. “I suppose it’s unlikely to kill me. I’ll take some eggnog with rum, heavy on the rum. I’ll be in the drawing room. It seems to me that we have a good deal to talk about.”

“Mother,” Anthony says. “You can’t order Rosie around.”

Her lips quirks. “Who said I was orderingheraround?”

Mrs. Rosings,Anthony, and I are deep into a discussion of the wedding, which is to say that Mrs. Rosings is monologuing, Anthony is making disinterested sounds, and I’m squirming in my seat. My fidgetiness has everything to do with the fact that I haven’t had a real Nicole update.I want to believe my fingerprints won’t be a problem. Ineedto believe it, because I can’t bear to think about stepping away from him now.

Anthony and I are sitting on the couch closest to the Christmas tree, and Mrs. Rosings is perched on the same settee she occupied when I was here last week.

“The arrangements were for Nina’s wedding, and they were designed to be unpleasant,” Mrs. Rosings says, taking a big gulp from her cup. “There’s no getting around that, although Laineydidfind me another musical choice at the last minute.”

Anthony groans. “Did you at least pay her for helping?”

His mother waves him off as if it would be beneath her to reply. I suppose it would be. Based on what both Claire and Lainey have told me, she does pay very generously. “But the colors are still brown and orange.”

“Brown?” I ask, laughing. “Can we paint things? Or decorate them with glitter?”

She considers this and then smiles primly. “Perhaps. There are a few people I would love to see covered in glitter.”Then, turning to Anthony, she says, “Will you go fill my glass, Anthony? I’m absolutely parched.”

“Drinking alcohol won’t help,” he says, shooting me a look that says,Don’t worry, I won’t leave you with her.

“When you’re right, you’re right.” Mrs. Rosings gives him a sphinx-like smile. “Would you be a dear and run to the store to get me some of that sparkling water I enjoy?”

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