Page 72 of His Wilde Little
Alongside all the food for the tea party we were having, we had some of our favorite music, mostly pop icons like Britney Spears, and when it came to the queens of pop music, we all had lip sync battles with each other, trying to out perfect. I was had a sever disadvantage because of my onesie, but at least I could slip and slide everywhere.It was a bit of a workout.
And we also had our coloring pages and a whole bucket of pens and pencils and color with. It was nice doing this time alone, but it was even better with friends where we could talk and ramble about whatever was happening in our lives.
“We’ve been watching a lot ofMurder, She Wrote,” Leo said. “It’s our comfort show. Since Henry got here, he’s beensuspicious of everyone. You want to hear some of the stories he tells.”
“I wish my Daddy would tell stories,” Oliver said. Oliver’s Daddy was the owner of the hardware store. “He can read them from the book, but he doesn’t create them.”
“My Daddy doesn’t need to create stories,” I said. “I just like it when he talks to me. You know, that Texan twang he has.” I let out a moan and shivered. “Especially when he’s whispering in my ear.” I squealed into a giggle.
“Jelly!” Malcolm said. “Elijah tells stories through the food he makes, which I think is fun.”
“So, what stories does your Daddy tell, Leo?” I asked. “I always loved Jessica Fletcher as a character, she was so much fun. It’s why I always use that gif of her eating popcorn whenever people in the chat argue over who has the best collectables.”
“I have the best,” Oliver said.
He was probably right as well. I was not going to engage with it. I didn’t collect the little Sublime bears that most everyone else did. They’d released so many collections. I’d be more broke than I already was.
Leo began spilling all the strange mystery stories his Daddy told about the people in town, none of them were based in truth. They were all just fictions. “You know, Mabel Grant, she has the corner house just as you turn to get to the lake, well Daddy created this story about her. He said she buys the gingerbread loaf he makes, but she doesn’t eat it herself, instead, she lures the birds in from the lake to her house and then she eats the birds.”
We all shared the same look of horror as the story unfolded.
Leo continued. “He once saw duck feathers in her bag, and she also mentioned that she had duck feather pillows. So that’s why he said it.”
“Don’t you think we’d know if she did that?” Oliver asked giggling. “I mean, she’s a sweet old lady.”
“You havenotwatchedMurder, She Wrotethen, because it’s the sweet ones you’ve got to watch out for,” Leo said and we all nodded in agreement.
I shuddered. “So, he can make great desserts and tell a good story,” I said. “But can he ride horses and—and you know, make a lasso?” I was suddenly competitive about my Daddy now, but still mostly because I was butthurt over the bakery being bought out from—well, not under me because I’d never tried to buy it, but mentally, I thought it was going to be mine.
Leo laughed. “No way, he came from the corporate world with all the computers and stuff,” he said.
“Mine can make great desserts too,” Malcolm added. “And he’s good in bed.”
This is what I’d missed, sharing all the fun tidbits of life with each other. My friendship group, no matter how little we spent with each other, we were friends, even the new ones felt like they’d been with us for the longest time.
“Ok, I have a bit of a more serious question now,” I said.
Everyone went quiet. Malcolm turned the music playing in the background off.
Leo touched my shoulder. “Is everything ok?”
“Yeah, so, as you all know, I’ve won a lot of baking titles at the local festivals,” I said. We didn’t get trophies or badges, but we got little certificates, so it counted. “Well, in a couple of months, the Saddle Up event is taking place, and I don’t know what dessert to put forward. It has to be something that represents me and also will appeal to the hardened cowboys.”
“Cherry pie,” Oliver announced. “Nobody can resist a cherry pie. In fact, I want cherry pie.”
“Ooo,” Malcolm let out. “I thought we were all about the pineberries here.”
“We are, and I would love to represent the town, but not many people eat or know about them. So, they might not even try it. But cherry pie, hello, I’m sure Leo can tell you that’s a seller at his Daddy’s bakery.”
Leo nodded in agreement. “It is a seller. Although, folks around here do love just any dessert.”
“Apple pie?” Malcolm added. “It’s a pretty standard dessert, right?”
“A lot of people make apple pie,” I mumbled. I had ideas, but every time I tried to put them forward, I second guessed myself. “I did make a pecan pie for Thanksgiving. It’s my Daddy’s favorite, I totally surprised him with it.”
“And you didn’t bring any for us,” Leo asked. “I think I want to grab a pillow and bash you with it.”
That was all that was needed for us to clear a space and begin our pillow fight royale rumble. it was a lot of fun, and no spilled foam and feathers from broken pillows this time. In the past, we’d broken a whole lot of pillows with our love for a good fight.
