Page 57 of Cool for the Summer

“What do you mean?” I give it another long look. In the summer heat, the front yard has sprouted up even more in the last few weeks. It’s a nice-looking house underneath the veneer of disuse. I could see Beck at home there.

I swallow back a lump that suddenly rises in my throat at the image of Beck living in Rosedale, working at his cookie shop, coming home to—what? Cleo isn’t his. The house on Wild Rose Lane isn’t, either. Will he get a dog of his own? He’ll have to find somewhere to live. As usual, I’ve been a self-centered ass, worried about my own future when Beck has even more to consider and arrange.

“I wanted to see if maybe the owners would sell,” Beck says casually. “But Noelle hit a dead end learning who they are, then she got busy with other stuff. I’m going to have to find someplace to rent soon. There are some apartments available, but it’s going to be really hard to say goodbye to Jack’s kitchen.”

I frown. I can’t see Beck in some tiny apartment kitchen. He honestly deserves a kitchen out of a Nancy Meyers movie. I wonder if the blue house has a decent kitchen, and why Beck’s real estate agent hasn’t made any progress with it.

“I’m sure Jack and Pete will let you stay as long as you need to. Is Jack excited that you’re sticking around Rosedale?”

“Yeah, actually.” Beck’s posture perks up. “He’s got this weird theory that all his friends should move to Rosedale, that they’d be happier and more well-adjusted or something? Apparently, I’m just following some kind of preordained path that leads all of us here. It’s kind of funny. But I like it here. At least for now.”

“What do you meanfor now? You’re opening a business. That makes you an honorary local. You fit right in.”

“I’m excited about the cookie shop, yes. And I do love Rosedale. Living near my favorite family member is going to be great. And I’ll get to see this little furball whenever I want.” He bends down and scratches Cleo behind the ears, then straightens and looks right at me. “But I’d be a little more excited if I wasn’t afraid I’m going to peter out on it in a few months.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve never stuck with anything I tried after college. You know this. What if I lose interest and all this hard work is for nothing? Or worse, what if the cookie shop is a failure?”

I stop in my tracks. “Beck, believe me when I say the cookie shop is not going to be a failure. I have never for one second believed it wasn’t going to be a huge success. It’s a home run. You and cookies are a magical pairing, believe me.” He smiles a little at that, but I’m not done.

“And if running a cookie shop turns out not to be what you want, well, that’s okay. You don’t have to do the same thing for the rest of your life, even if it is a success. You could sell it or hire a manager and do something else. Lots of people are serial entrepreneurs. I wouldn’t be so afraid about the future, because if you need a change, you can always pivot.”

“Thanks, Donovan. That’s good advice.” He draws closer and pats my shoulder. “You ever think about pivoting yourself? You could be a killer life coach.”

I shake my head at the idea. I’m aware that I stole elements of my own pep talk from Joan, but I decide to play along. “I could do it if all my clients were like you.”

He cocks his head. “And what am I like?”

“Smart. Hard-working. Talented.” Am I hoping flattery will get me somewhere with Beck? Hell, yes.

His eyes glint. “Talented, huh?”

I look at his mouth, which turns me on by just existing. “Very talented. You’re really great at… baking.”

He grins. “That reminds me, I have another molasses cookie recipe to try on you tonight.”

“Then we better get home,” I say.

“Yes, let’s go home.”

TWENTY-FIVE

BECK

I’m backin the kitchen again, grooving to Brazilian samba and making Donovan cookies. I think this is my happy place, because even though my heart still feels on the verge of splintering every time he says something that gives me hope he could have real feelings for me, but then pulls back, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.

Donovan’s sitting on the other side of the island, writing in his notebook, and I’ve just put the first batch of my new recipe in the oven. I have a good feeling about this one—I’ve taken all the notes he’s given me from my other attempts at recreating his aunt’s recipe, and even if this isn’t the one, it’s still the best molasses cookie dough I’ve ever made.

We’ll see what the verdict is when they come out of the oven.

“Damn.”

I look over and Donovan’s frowning down at his notebook.

“What?”

“I’m out of pages. Not a big deal, I’ll just?—”

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