Page 51 of Concerted Chaos

“The one down the street from the gym? Yeah.” We almost went there together once. Almost.

“They’re having a cookie contest. The entries have to go well with beer. I want to make super fudgy pretzel cookies to pair with dark ale, but I don’t have a kitchen and you do ...” he raises his eyebrows and looks at me expectantly. Oh my god, he is sometimes so cute. I hate that about him.

“Go ahead. Do I need to call for a grocery delivery? We probably don’t have the ingredients on hand.”

There’s his dimple producing grin. “I was counting on you to say yes. My groceries are sitting by the front door, all peanut-free. As a thank you, I brought enough to make a batch for you too.”

When he heads into the house to start baking, I turn to see Brixley staring at me, one perfect eyebrow arched. “Intriguing. He’s cute. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ve got tweezers in my bag. When he comes back out, you hold him down and I’ll deal with that eyebrow issue.”

“I like his eyebrows,” I protest. Sure, they’re unruly, but they make his face more interesting. And they distract from that adorable dimple.

“Do you? Good, because he likes you. Maybe I should head back to Cali and let him be the one to nurse you back to health.”

“Very funny.” It’s obvious he’s not interested in me. He just comes around because he can make money off us. “He’s the guy I told you about, the one who was in the explosion with me. Maybe you should be taking care of him instead.”

“Oh?” Now both eyebrows are raised. “Were you on your way to a press event?”

“No, we were going out for drinks.”

“You didn’t tell me you were on a date! Cassidy! How long has this been going on? And why have you kept it from me?” Brix is way more enthusiastic about her misinterpretation of my relationship than she should be.

“It wasn’t a date, just drinks. We’re friends,” I protest, but she waves my words away.

“Just drinks with a guy who can’t take his eyes off you. Seriously, did you not see that? It’s the first time I’ve been ignored. It was refreshing.” She relaxes back onto her chaise, a smug smirk on her face. She’s wrong, but if I correct her she’ll think I’m hiding something by protesting too much.

When Tanner emerges from the house, he’s carrying a tray with an artistically arranged plate of cookies and two small glasses of beer. I bet if I pull up his SwiftaPic feed I’ll see them posted already. And knowing him, he’s crafted a bunch of silly hashtags. #cookiemadness #chocolatefordays #voteTanner #betterthankCassforherkitchen

“Okay, you need to try these.” He sets the tray on the small table between our lounge chairs. “Wait, I should have asked, Brixley, you eat, right?”

“Everybody eats,” she says. He flushes.

“I mean, no gluten intolerances or anything. I assumed you consumed food.” I suspect he’s backpedaling because he’s embarrassed about making assumptions based on her career. But she doesn’t seem to mind.

“I eat carefully, but I do eat. And I do like chocolate.” She winks at me, leaving off the unspoken especially at this time of the month. Me too, sister. Me, too.

“These look delicious,” I tell him honestly as I reach for one. He can borrow my kitchen anytime, as long as there are planned leftovers.

“Wait, you have to take a sip of the beer, then try the cookie. And be honest with me. If they don’t go together, I’m going to lose.” He’s watching us, anxious to read our expressions. I’m trying not to laugh at the way he’s nervously running his hands through his already tousled hair.

“Is there a prize?” There has to be a reason he’s so concerned.

“Bragging rights and a bar T-shirt.”

“You’re going to a lot of effort for a Rusty Mug shirt. What are they usually, ten bucks?”

“Did you miss the bragging rights part? Those are priceless. Come on, eat.” Tanner is practically vibrating with impatience, so Brix and I take sips of beer and chase them with bites of the cookies. And holy baking skills, that man knows what he’s doing in the kitchen.

“These are perfect!” Brixley, who has been served pastries on plates of gold from the world’s finest chefs, is effusive in her praise. “I’m not kidding. You could open a bakery and sell nothing but these!”

“Nah, baking is my hobby. If it became a job I wouldn’t enjoy it anymore,” he says. “But I’m glad you like them.”

“Are you on SwiftaPic? What’s your handle?” she asks, reaching into her bag for her phone and a selfie stick.

“Seriously? It’s @TannerTakesPics. But let me get it for you; with this light it needs to come from over here.” He takes her phone and moves until he’s in the proper place, repeatedly looking at the sky and making slight adjustments to his position before finally taking the shot.

“Lovely.” Brixley approves of the image and starts typing an update to her millions of followers.

“Really?” I ask, looking at what she just posted. OMG! @TannerTakesPics can bake! #chocolate4life

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