Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)(14)

My phone vibrates in my hand and I stop gawking at Marco long enough to look down and see I have a Facebook notification. Opening the app, I laugh out loud when I see what the notification says and who it’s from.

“What’s so funny?” Marco asks, taking his eyes off the road long enough to see that I’m looking at my phone.

Since he’s finally talking again, and no longer looks like he’s going to yak all over the dashboard, I figure I might as well share this with him and give him a good laugh to ease the tension of what’s about to happen.

“So, remember that douchebag I mentioned at the diner? Alfanso D., the supposed cookbook author? I called him out in front of all of his adoring fans, and he just replied to my comment.”

“HE WHAT?!” Marco shouts, the car swerving off the berm and onto the gravel before he hastily rights the wheel and gets us back onto the road.

He gives me a quick look of apology and mutters something about a cat in the road before continuing. “There’s no way he replied. Are you sure? Maybe you’re confused.”

I laugh, wondering why the hell he looks so freaked out when we’re not even talking about my family, but some idiot on Facebook.

“I’m definitely not confused, and yes, I’m sure he replied. Here, listen to this,” I tell him, clearing my throat and reading the pathetic comment. “‘Dearest Molly, I am deeply sorry if anything I said angered you. Please accept my apology and know I will do my best not to make such offensive comments going forward.’”

It’s even funnier reading it out loud so I do it one more time, but make my voice high-pitch and very feminine this time.

“There’s no way this guy wrote that thing himself. I bet the comment I made about cutting the cord from his mommy made him go running right to the poor woman and he made her type this,” I chuckle.

“His mother tries to text people using the TV remote. I doubt she’d know her way around Facebook,” Marco mutters.

I look at him questioningly and he laughs. “I mean, I’m assuming that’s how his mother is. You know, because he’s a douchebag and all that…”

Figuring he’s probably right and that the mother of Alfanso Douchebag has got to be as dumb as he is, I point out the next street Marco needs to turn down and which house is mine before looking back at my phone.

“He even put a heart and smiley face emoji at the end of his reply. How sad is that?” I ask. “This guy definitely has a small penis. Or no penis at all.”

Marco pulls the car to the curb, mumbling under his breath so quietly I can barely hear what he says. The only words I catch are anaconda penis and something about sisters wishing they’d never been born, but before I can ask him to repeat himself, I look up and realize we’re in front of my house. My hands start to sweat and my stomach flip-flops all over the place as he turns off the ignition and we sit in silence.

“Deep breaths, it’s going to be fine,” Marco reassures me as he pockets his keys. “I’m going to be right here the whole time. You’re going to do great, they’re going to believe every word you say, and they’re going to surprise you by being happy and supportive and making this a hell of a lot easier on you.”

I do what he says and take a few deep, calming breaths. I just need to keep my eye on the prize. A whole new set of baking utensils, a KitchenAid mixer, and ten percent of Charlotte and Gavin’s wedding money. That will be more than enough for a deposit on my own apartment so I can move out of my parent’s home and finally have some privacy. Privacy that will hopefully include a lot of naked time with the man next to me, as long as he hasn’t changed his name and fled the country after dealing with my insane family for the next few weeks.

“And if things start to heat up, I’ll just tell them about my incredibly huge penis, and how I’m without a doubt decent, dependable, desirable, daring and delicious,” he says with a smile, leaning across the console to give me a quick peck on the cheek.

He’s out of the car and around to my side, holding my door open for me before I can do something stupid like cradle my cheek in my hand and vow to never wash it again after he kissed it.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop doing stuff like that?” I growl, pretending like I’m annoyed instead of two seconds away from asking him to take his pants off on the front lawn.

“Well, stop having such a kissable cheek then,” he replies easily.

Marco continues to tell me how everything will be fine as we make our way up the sidewalk and onto the porch. I start to feel a bit more confident until I open the front door. The quiet peacefulness of the neighborhood outside is immediately ruined as we step into the foyer and the sounds of screaming, arguing, and cursing coming from the living room explode through the house.

“What in the hell?” I murmur as I start to move down the hall to the direction of the noise, the sound of Marco’s shoes on the hardwood echoing behind me as he quietly follows.

When we’re a few feet from the living room and the noise has reached ear-piercing level, Charlotte suddenly flies out of the room and around the corner, sliding across the floor in her stocking feet and quickly latching onto my arms to stop herself from slamming into me.

“What is going on in there?” I ask her when I can finally make out one of the shouting voices and it’s my mother’s, who just told someone to “Shut the f*ck up before I f*cking make you shut the f*cking f*ck up, you f*cking f*ck!”