Page 64 of A Surefire Love
“Hey.” She stepped back to let him in. “I heard you assigned yourself Mercy and Hadley at the corn maze—brave choice. They didn’t completely ignore Jasper, did they?”
“Not completely.” He shut the door behind himself.
She crossed her arms, unsure why he’d come or what to do with him. She nodded toward the container he held. “Looking for a refill?”
“Nope. First …” He extended the produce bag. “This is parsley. The rabbit can eat that, right?”
She accepted the offering in dumbfounded silence. He’d shopped for BunBun? The bunny had been running laps earlier, but she didn’t spot him in his usual living room hangouts now.
“You don’t have to give it to him now or anything.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She folded the bag around the bunch of parsley. “And the container?”
He passed it to her. “Mom always said not to return dishes empty.”
“That really wasn’t necessary.” The contents rattled as she accepted the gift. “Mercy and I have cut back on sweets.”
“I remember. How’s that going? The diet change and medication?”
“I decided to take your advice.”
“How so?”
“I found a specialist for myself. I have an appointment Friday morning. They sound a lot more thorough.” So much so, they’d suggested bringing a loved one along to provide insight into how she operated. When she said she didn’t have anyone she was comfortable bringing along, they asked her if she could bring in short, written statements from people in three different spheres of life.
Maybe Anson …? No. She didn’t want him thinking of her as a patient with a problem. At least not any more than he already did.
She cleared her throat. “Anyway, even if it doesn’t turn out to be ADHD, they diagnose and treat other disorders.”
“I’m glad. You deserve to feel your best.” He squeezed her shoulder, then stuffed his hand in his pocket. “As for the sweets issue, these don’t have refined flour or sugar.”
“What do they have?”
“Coconut flour, dark chocolate, maple syrup, a few other things.”
A sweet, chocolaty scent met her as she popped the lid. “All right. Let’s give ’em a try.” She led the way to the kitchen, put the parsley in the fridge for later, and set the cookies on the counter peninsula that separated the kitchen from the dining area. She took a napkin for herself and offered one to Anson. He accepted, and they each took a cookie. Fat and round, the dough hadn’t spread much in the oven.
Blaze took her first bite, and crumbles sprinkled onto her hand. The cookie sapped the moisture from her mouth. Bitter chocolate and arid coconut flour lingered on her tongue. She swallowed hard. Twice. Embarrassment flushed her chest and neck. What should she say? What if her face had already given away her opinion?
She risked lifting her gaze.
Anson held his cookie between his thumb and index finger. He chewed slowly and studied the remaining portion like he was deciding how to respond to an insult. He must not have tried one before bringing them over. What was it like to be so confident that failure came as such a shock?
A laugh escaped her throat. She lifted her hand to stop it, but he looked at her.
The corner of his mouth lifted. He parted his lips as if to speak, but instead he laughed rich and low.
Blaze set her cookie on her napkin and retrieved two glasses of milk. She passed one to him. “Anson Marsh, I do believe we’ve discovered the one thing in this world you’re not good at.”
He snorted and took a long drink. “Well.” He set the milk on the counter next to their discarded cookies and cleared his throat. “That’s a real shame, because I wasn’t actually trying to bake cookies.” He braced a hand on the counter.
“That makes more sense. If you were trying to make cotton balls, you’re well on your way.”
He nodded as if to say he’d deserved that. His smile relaxed as his gaze roved over her face. “I was trying to show you how much I care about you.”
Her mouth went dry again. Did he meancarein a romantic sense? More likely, the miniseries he’d interrupted was fueling her imagination. “I value our friendship too. You’re not who I thought you were. Or maybe you’ve changed since I made my initial judgments. I suppose I have too. Growing up will do that for a person.” Was this how Mercy felt when she babbled? Blaze couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “And they say friendships are harder to establish as adults, but we kind of fell into this, and—”
“I’m falling for you, but not like that.” Calm and steady, his voice conveyed none of the self-consciousness that zapped through her veins.
