Page 18 of A Cowboy Sugar Cookie Kiss
COLE
BAKING WITH FRED andBetty is like babysitting children. Angry, bitter, miserable children who you can’t send to a corner ‘cause they don’t fucking listen.
I rub my temple with the back of my hand. It doesn’t help that I’ve been milking a hangover all morning.
“Swig sugar cookies are a lazy baker’s sugar cookie.” Betty talks to no one in particular, but her words are all directed at my grandfather. “Since you don’t have to roll the dough, they’re easier to make than your traditional sugar cookie.” She lightly presses her rolling pin over her already flattened dough. She’s perfecting the shape.
Maggie grins at me from across the long metal tables pushed together in the middle of the kitchen. It’s forced the grumpy old bakers to work parallel from one another. It also gives me the opportunity to steal glances at Maggie.
“Swig cookies are big and soft, unlike traditional sugar cookies.” My granddad isn’t talking to anyone in particular either, but he’s aiming his snarky words at Betty. “They’re perfectly sweet and the best sugar cookies around.”
“Swig sugar cookies are copycats from Utah’s Soda shop.” Betty gasps at her own words. Her head jerks up. A single streak of flour runs over her forehead. She’s a much cleaner baker than my granddad. His holly printed apron is covered in white patches of flour.“Maybe you’re the original recipe thief,” the older woman accuses.
Fred shakes his head as he continues to shape his cookies. “That sounds a lot like you admitting to stealing my recipe in the first place.”
“How dare you!”
They push me to my limit.
Again.
I change the country song on my phone to a heavy metal song. I crank up the volume on my Bluetooth speaker. It spits out a Metallica song. High base and treble rumbles through the kitchen.
Betty and my granddad have the same reaction. They cringe, cover their ears, and shout at me to turn it off. So far, that’s the only thing they’ve agreed on.
I lower the song. “Are we done bitchin’ and bickerin’?”
When they grumble what sounds like an agreement, I switch back to the country song. I steal a glance at Maggie. She’s all smiles at my method.
I’m glad we’re on talking terms. I woke up this morning with my own share of regret. I figured I’d ruined the somewhat of a friendship I made with her yesterday. There’s something about Maggie I can’t put my finger on. Yeah, I wanted to jump in the shower with her and make love against the tile wall. But the something I can’t figure out is about more than sex.
I like Maggie.
It’s been a long time since I’ve let my guard down with a woman. Ever since I was left at the altar. But last night, I did just that, and enjoyed every second with her.
“I like a little heavy metal now and then.” Maggie’s fingers dig into batter. Her hazel flecked eyes peer at me through her lashes. “You’ll have to show me your playlist.”
“Anytime.”
My granddad grunts. “Don’t let that one in, son. She’ll steal your heart and smash it.”
“You mean she’ll steal my recipe, old man.”
He grumbles to himself, which is better than grumbling at Betty.
With over six-hundred cookie box tickets sold, we have a lot of baking to do. I’ll give Mrs. Hill credit for knowing how to whip up batches of five-hundred cookies at a time. My granddad and I are not that ahead. The men don’t have trays of cookies lining the counters like the women.
“I’m hungry.” My granddad pushes his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand.
“We can take a break—”
“No,” he hisses at me. He glares at Betty before turning his back to her and lowering his voice. “We are behind. There’s no time to break. Go get us food and we’ll eat it quickly.”
“You’re behind even without having to roll your dough,” Betty snickers.
“Old woman —”
“Old man —”
