“What kind?”
“Chocolate chip. Want some?”
I swallow. No. I don’t want cookies. Or coffee. I want something sweeter, juicier, and it’s not made of sugar and butter. But I know it could be better than any dessert.
But I say yes anyway. Better give my mouth something wholesome to do.
I serve the coffee while she gets the cookies and puts them on a small plate. Thank god we’re finally sitting at the kitchen table; I’ve got nowhere else to hide my throbbing erection.
She sits across from me and pushes the cracked plate with the cookies toward me. The plate has tiny purple violets on it and looks to be about fifty years old. I wonder if there is anything in this house made later than the year I was born.
I take a cookie while I drink from my mug, and she does too. I spot her looking at me through her long brown lashes while her mug covers half her face. The coffee is good—better than what I expected from an obsolete appliance.
I take a bite of the cookie and—oh my god. I am hurtled back to my childhood. I’m sitting at a cheap kitchen set like this at my NaNa’s house, only instead of coffee, I’m dunking cookies like these in a glass of milk.
“You made these?”
“Yes,” she says, her eyebrows perking up. “I said I did.”
“These are the best damn chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever tasted.”
Her chest flushes pink. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. The sight of her skin warming with embarrassment—or maybe arousal—at my words makes me want to grab her up and crash my mouth against hers to let her know how fucking gorgeous she is.
Then I notice she’s dunking her whole cookie into her coffee.
“Even better this way,” she says.
I smile. “Is this the beginning of negotiations?”
“Listen, I don’t know how to trust an Okie unless he knows how to dunk my cookies.”
“How’d you know I was an Okie?”
“’Cause you obviously ain’t from around here, but you still have basic manners, I suppose.”
I laugh. “I’m not a cookie dunker per se, but you might persuade me.”
“It’s good you recognize I’m starting with the upper hand here. I have something you want, you better get dunking.”
I’d love to dunk my cookies in something other than coffee.
Molly coughs and nearly spits out her soggy cookie. “What did you say?” Her eyes are shocked but amused.
Oh shit. I said that out loud.
She’s laughing. But I’m feeling pretty much like a deer in headlights. And I kind of wish the truck behind those headlights would run me down and put me out of my misery.
I rub my palms over my tired eyes. I stand to go, the clumsy scraping of the chair legs across the floor emphasizing my awkwardness in this moment. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything. I need some sleep, I guess. We should continue these negotiations tomorrow when we’re both…fully dressed. I should go.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her eyes are downcast.
She’s sad. I did that, and I’m now kicking myself.
“Sorry, I—”
“No, it’s fine. It’s late. I don’t know what I was thinking, inviting you over. You’re right. We should probably stick to a cold sterile conference room to hammer out the details.”
“Molly.”