I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(89)

Remember the first night you came over? Chase continues twenty minutes later.

Yes.

I should have kissed you then, girl.

You should have, boy.

I’ll make up for it tonight, I promise. I’m not stopping until I’ve kissed you everywhere.

I fumble the phone in my hands, squirm in my chair. My boy is best when he’s sexy and playful like this.

I have to bake tonight, you know, I remind him.

Oh, cookie dough, huh? You’re giving me ideas…

And just then damn Missy rushes into the office and I hurriedly hide my phone.

“I’m just here for a minute,” she says in a whirlwind, waving her hand. “No need to stop what you’re doing. You’re still making cookies for the sale, yeah?” I nod. “Good, I’ll need them by tomorrow morning.”

“No problem, I figured as much. I’m baking tonight.”

“Perfect!” Missy smiles, turns, and is soon halfway to the door. “We’ll talk later, Kay,” she calls out over her shoulder. “Busy, busy, you know.” And just as quickly as she came in, she is gone.

The fact that the only topic discussed was cookies lets me know Missy has not yet been enlightened to my change in living accommodations. Just as well, I am not in the mood for her disapproving looks and disparaging comments regarding Chase. He claims he’s never slept with her, but there’s something nagging me regarding this whole odd situation. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to think about it for long, a bunch of business calls start to come in and it’s back to work until five o’clock.

That evening, while I’m mixing and stirring in the kitchenette of my new apartment, Chase stops by to check on my progress. And to test out some freshly baked snickerdoodle cookies, of course. I remembered to invite him over via text before the end of the workday.

After my handsome boyfriend gives me a peck on my flour-streaked cheek, I tell him how much I love the oven he never got around to using. He watches as I transfer a tray of cookies from the oven to a cooling rack atop the breakfast bar. Chase sits down on one of the stools on the other side of the counter. He says he’s glad someone is finally using all these never-before-used appliances and bakeware, and then he reaches for one of the still-hot cookies.

I playfully swat his hand away. “Not those, they’re too hot to eat.”

I hand him one of the cooled-down cookies from a different rack. “Here, try this one.”

He bites into the cookie and immediately slows his chewing. “Mmm,” he mumbles. “Damn, these are good.” He steals another. “Like, exceptionally good.”

“Thank you,” I say, beaming with pride that my boy likes my baking.

While I open the oven and put in another batch, I ask Chase, “So, what’s your favorite kind of cookie? I’ll make them for you sometime.”

Chase pilfers another snickerdoodle, holds it aloft, and ponders. “Well, I’ve always liked chocolate-chip, but I’m thinking these may be my new favorite.” He finishes his newly christened “favorite” cookie in two bites.

I laugh. “I’m glad you like those, but I’ll still make you some chocolate chip cookies sometime soon.”

“You’re too good to me, sweet girl,” he tells me as he steals two more snickerdoodles.

“Well, you’re even sweeter to me, so I guess we’re even,” I retort.

Before he can reply, and get us into a debate as to who is sweeter to whom, I stuff another cookie in his mouth.

We laugh and the fun continues. Chase stays late and helps me finish my baking project. Well, he helps some. What he mostly does is devour cookies, making me thankful I baked plenty extra. By the time we’re finished it’s really late. We’re too exhausted to start anything physical, so we put the cookie dough-sexy times on hold. But Chase stays the night, holding me close, in an apartment filled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies.

To me, it smells like home.




The next night Chase and I are on our way to the carnival. My boy is driving, and I’m in the passenger seat. Tonight is the first night of festivities down at the church, and I suspect if it’s going to be anything like last year’s opening the grounds will be packed. A thought regarding the cookies I dropped off this morning passes through my mind. Missy told me to stop by the bake sale stand this evening so she can update me on the early sales of my snickerdoodles.

As Chase rounds a curve in the road, I glance over. “Do you mind if we stop by the bake sale stand at some point? I’d like to see how my cookies are selling.”

“Okay,” he answers slowly, frowning.

It’s clear Chase is not too thrilled with the idea. But what would it matter to him? Something is off.

“Is there some reason why you don’t want to stop by that particular stand?” I cautiously venture.

Chase places his hand on my jean-clad leg and gives me a sidelong glance. “No, it’s not that, baby. I was just thinking about something else, something to do with work.”

Hmm, sure, I think. But I let it slide, for now.

The carnival is hopping. The church grounds, bathed in bright and colorful lights, appear as they do no other time of the year, except for Christmas. Amusement rides spin and twirl, as the aromas of fried corn dogs and freshly-spun cotton candy permeate the thick, summer air. One of the many game stands lights up and bells go off as someone wins a huge stuffed toy.