Page 65 of Forget Me Not

“Oh.”

“But, I put my own interpretation on it, so I still want credit for being brilliant and insightful.” She reaches far to her right and grabs the cookie jar sitting there. “Chocolate chip.” She hands me one. “They’re chewy and extra excellent for dipping.”

“Not every problem can be solved with chocolate, Mags.”

“Wrong.” She takes a bite so big, cookie crumbs collect at the corners of her mouth. “Name one problem you’ve had I haven’t fixed with chocolate.”

“Fine. This problem is the first ever problem which cannot be fixed with chocolate,” I insist, while crumbling my cookie over the bowl so I can mix it in and eat it with my spoon.

“Doubtful.” She dips her last bite in ganache, then pops it in her mouth and proceeds to chew in slow motion, staring at the side of my head the entire time. I know because I can feel it. My temple is getting hotter by the second just from her eyeballs locking in on it.

I abandon the chocolate. I suddenly feel sick. “Mags?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you going to tell me what to do, or what?”

She laughs and consequently starts to choke on her cookie. Several seconds of coughing and clearing her throat later, she’s still entirely too amused for someone who should not only be brimming with sympathy, but also just had a near death by chocolate chip cookie experience.

“Have I ever told you what to do?” She slides from her stool, shaking her head and answering her own question. “No. Never. Not once. It’s not my thing, Coop. Feeding you chocolate and making you laugh when life is too hard to cry, that’s my thing. It’s what you come here for.”

She sells herself short. She’s done so much more for me than feed me chocolate.

“It’s a good thing you don’t do this parenting thing more often,” I mutter dryly. “A less troubled child than myself might not know how to handle your particular brand of love and nurture.”

“Only the most troubled for me.” She smirks, handing me a glass of water and taking a sip of her own. “So, how long you suppose you’re going to do this to yourself?” She glances at her wrist. As if she’s ever even owned a watch. “Because, I have a schedule, you know?!”

“I’m going to need a bed.”

“You can have a pillow and half of mine. That way you’ll be comfortable but you won’t consider moving in.”

“Someday you’re going to use that philosophy on someone and it’s going to backfire,” I point out, “Last two people I gave a pillow to made plans to get a house with me. Same house, incidentally.” I still can’t really wrap my mind around it. I was so close to having everything I ever thought I wanted. And now, I’m back at square one. Literally, in the same place I started right before I met Reed. And things went from amazing to incomprehensibly complicated.

“You’re too nice to people. It’s why they stick around and make plans with you. I don’t have that problem.” She grins in her temperamental wicked way.

“You feed people sweets and baked goods,” I counter.

“That I do. I make them feel all happy and high, until they puke. And leave.” She nods appreciatively. “It’s a solid system.”

“You’re saying if I made people nauseous more often my life would be simpler?”

“Yep. And emptier.” She turns serious. “It’s not for you. Stick with being nice, just be more specific when you’re handing out pillows.”

“I’d give you a pillow.” I attempt a silly smile. If she’s not going to solve my problems for me, I’d just as soon go back to being distracted by meaningless banter.

“Don’t want it. It’s used. And the guy who used it will be back for it.” She bumps my shoulder with hers, nudging me to get up and follow her. “Next time, do us all a favor and let him keep it.”

Chapter Nineteen

Gun

7Years Earlier

“You look worried.” Mags startles me from my thoughts. I was worrying.

“A lot to be worried about.” I yank the zipper of Coop’s bag closed in one swift pull. It was meant to serve as a statement, but the pulley comes off in my hand and the seam splits. Not exactly the result I was hoping for.

“Or, to look forward to.” Mags reaches over me to take the bag. I watch in silence as she rearranges its contents, reattaches the zipper and closes it up, returning it to its previously functioning condition. Talk about serving as a statement.

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