Page 46 of A Very Merry Enemy
“Remember when we tried to make snickerdoodles at Mawmaw’s and you forgot the cream of tartar?” I ask.
“That wasyouwho forgot it.”
“For some reason, I remember it definitely being you.”
We’re lost in our thoughts for a few seconds.
He shakes his head, but he’s almost smiling. “You’ve always been impossible.”
“Oh, big same.”
We slide the trays into the oven, and I set the timer. Lucas leans against the counter, tattooed arms crossed, watching me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. You’re the one staring.”
“Um. It takes two to stare. I just didn’t realize you were tatted up like…”
His brows raise, and he smirks as he lifts his shirt. Abs for days and more tattoos.
“How many do you have?”
“Lost count,” he says and clears his throat, looking away.
The timer ticks in the silence between us.
“You want a drink?” Lucas asks. “I’ve got whiskey.”
I should say no. Alcohol and Lucas, and this house and old memories sound like a recipe for disaster.
“Yeah. Sure,” I say, not caring.
He pulls out a bottle that looks expensive. He pours two glasses and slides one across the counter to me.
The whiskey burns down my throat in the best way.
“Damn, that’s good,” I say, needing it to work.
He shoots the whole glass down and then fills it again.
The timer goes off, and Lucas grabs oven mitts to pull out the trays. The cookies are perfect—golden brown, the fudge centers just visible where they cracked slightly during baking.
“These look incredible,” Lucas says, leaning in close to inspect them.
“Hope they taste good.”
We keep drinking while waiting for them to cool. Lucas pours us both another round without asking.
“You trying to get me drunk, Jolly?” I ask.
“Maybe.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s something there—a challenge, a question. “Or maybe I just need to take the edge off.”
“Edge off what?”
“My personal hell.” He takes another drink.
I study him, wanting to say something, but let it slide. I break one of the cookies in half and take a bite.
