Page 11 of Made for the Mountain Man

"You bake?" I ask Milo.

"Yeah, man. I bake," Milo repeats with a slow smile as he scratches his short hair.

Suddenly, it dawns on me. "Milo, are youbaked?"

Milo bursts out laughing. "I'm feeling good, man."

I chuckle despite my previous mood, realizing nobody else appears to be home. "Do you know when Anderson will be back?"

Milo nods, walking toward the TV room where a popular horror film sits on pause. He throws himself into the reclinerfacing away from the kitchen, one leg dangling over the side as he picks up the remote. "He's done with swim lessons in a few. Feel free to hang."

"Right." I nod, looking around the messy kitchen again. "I forgot he picked those up on the weekends."

Anderson is a gym teacher at the local high school. He was a star athlete in high school and got his kinesiology degree and teaching certification in college before returning to Duhring Park to train the next generation.

"Oh, hey, man. Someone sent me a video of you riding a little kid bike and hitting some guy with a pool noodle." Milo peeks at me around the recliner. "Did that happen in real life?"

I sigh. "Yes. The Duhring Park rumor mill is in full swing. Awesome." Eyeing the plate of cookies, I ask, "Can I have one of these, Milo?"

"Yeah, man. The way you fell off that bike, I would say you need it." Milo chuckles and then restarts his movie.

Grumbling, I shove a cookie into my mouth in one bite and almost spit it out.Yuck!Milo is a terrible baker. I manage to swallow the cookie, choking down an earthy taste that does not belong in a dessert.

If the video has already made it to Milo, it means most of the town has probably seen it at this point.

Wait until I tell Violet about this.

The unbidden thought sours my mood again with the realization that my best friend, who I would’ve shared this crazy day with yesterday, doesn't want anything to do with me.

But why does her body tell me otherwise?

I reach for another cookie on auto-pilot, taking a large bite.Ew.I swallow again, not wanting to waste it.

Contemplating the insanity of the past eighteen hours of my life, I grab yet another cookie.

How do you make a cookie taste like a pinecone?

Either I've turned into a caveman douche insisting a girl wants me even though she doesn't, or she does want me but can't tell me why she can't be with me.Is she married?The thought enrages me. Violet ismine.

Shit. I've gone caveman.

Why won't she talk to me?

Frustrated and no calmer, I grab another cookie and head to the living room to wait for Anderson.

I sit on the couch, shoving the entire cookie in my mouth. "Is this the one with the alien thing?" I ask around a mouthful of crumbs.

Milo laughs. "Whoa, man, go slow on those. You'll get sick."

I swallow, nodding thoughtfully. I am a little nauseous. And sweaty. My heart is racing a bit. Oh, I don't feel well.

When I hear the front door a few minutes later, I slowly turn as Anderson enters the kitchen.

"Milo, dude. How many did you make?" Anderson turns to the TV room with a grin and notices me on the couch. "Brooks," he calls out. "What are you doing here?"

I stare at him, trying to focus. "Anderson, I don't feel well."

Anderson rushes over to the couch. "Brooks, did you eat one of Milo's cookies?"

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