Out of Bounds (The Summer Games #2)(52)

I pulled a few ingredients from the cupboard and carefully set them up in a line. Without an oven, I didn’t have many choices: no-bake peanut butter cookies or some fresh granola. I sighed. Neither of those would satisfy my baking bug. I wanted to slip something into the oven and wait for the delicious smell of rising bread to fill the air. It was like an adult security blanket.

I thought about sneaking into Erik’s kitchen again, but I’d kept my distance from him the last few days. Safer that way. Still, I needed an oven, and his was only a few yards away.

I pulled my phone closer to me on the counter and pulled up his number, opting for a benign text over a more invasive phone call.



Brie: Hello. May I please use your oven?



There. He couldn’t say no to me when I asked that politely. I nearly jumped when he replied a minute later.



Erik: I’m out on the trail. You have an hour. Clean up after.



I rolled my eyes. He didn’t need to say that. I’d cleaned up his entire kitchen the first time, even reorganizing his spice drawer so it made more sense. Had he thanked me? No.

With a giddy smile, I swept up my ingredients in my arms and headed for his house. An hour of uninterrupted kitchen time sounded heavenly. I could put some music on and whip up anything I wanted. Croissants? Scones? Quiche? I got lost in the possibilities as I pushed open his kitchen door. For a moment, I paused, bracing myself for his presence even though I knew he was gone. The house was quiet and clean. I smiled at the big kitchen island, bare and begging for my use.

Last time, it’d taken me nearly an hour just to find all the equipment in his kitchen. I’d had to hunt down his muffin tins and scrape away rust from his whisk. This time, everything was exactly where I’d left it. I put on a playlist and started swaying my hips as I pulled out his mixing bowls and baking sheets.

I was lost in the calm of the kitchen when his phone rang on the kitchen wall. It was one of those old wall-mounted phones that were a staple in 90s TV shows. The ring was loud, vibrating the headset against its base. I paused my music and listened to it ring, wondering if an answering machine would pick up after.

It rang four more times and then it went silent.

I frowned and got back to work, making a mental note to let Erik know someone had called. There probably weren’t many people with the number to his landline; I couldn’t imagine he gave it out very often.

I cracked three eggs into a large mixing bowl and then added a touch of vanilla extract and milk. I reached for the whisk, ready to whip the wet ingredients together, but the phone started ringing again. It seemed even louder this time, as if annoyed I’d ignored it the first time.

I stared over at it as it rattled on the wall.

RING. RING. RING.

Whoever was trying to reach him wasn’t going to give up. I glanced out to the driveway, praying I’d find Erik home early, but he was nowhere to be found and the ringing wouldn’t stop. I sighed and reached for it, wedging it in the groove between my shoulder and ear as I started whisking the ingredients in the bowl.

“Uh…hello,” I said into the receiver, unsure of what I should say. “Erik Winter’s residence.”

“Hello?”

“Hi,” I tried again. “Can you hear me?”

The voice on the other end of the line chuckled, low and raspy.

“Of course I can, I’m just surprised. May I ask, with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

The man sounded much older than Erik and I braced myself, hoping it wasn’t his father.

“Brie Watson. I’m one of Erik’s—”

“Ah, the gymnast! Brie. Hello!”

I scrunched my brows together and pulled the phone away from my ear, realizing a second too late that the old style phone didn’t have caller ID.

“Who is this?” I asked hesitantly.

“Niklas Winter.” I could hear a broad smile in his voice. “I’m Erik’s grandfather.”

“O-oh,” I stammered. “I’m sorry, Erik isn’t home right now. He went on a run, but I could leave a message for him?”

“The boy gets enough messages from me. I would much rather talk to the girl that is answering his phone so early in the morning.” He laughed.

My gaze took in the ingredients spread out in front of me. “It’s not what you think! Your grandson didn’t give us an oven, so I had to beg to use his.”

He chuckled. “What a miser! Tell me he’s given you a toilet, at least.”

I smiled. “Thankfully, yes. But…maybe you can talk some sense into him…”

I’m not sure how it happened—and if I had to repeat our conversation, I wouldn’t be able to—but for the next hour, I whipped around the kitchen, adding ingredients and slipping things into the oven while I spoke to Erik’s grandfather. He told me where he lived in Sweden, that he had goats and cows on his property, and that recently, a new neighbor had moved in across the street.

“Is he friendly?”

“It is a she, as luck would have it.” I hummed, encouraging him to continue. “And I haven’t the slightest clue as to her nature, since I haven’t introduced myself yet.”

All men around the world must be the same. I wondered how many great romances over the millennia had never come to fruition because of male shyness.