Page 68 of Screwed
Computer keys clicked as Cash typed it in. “Oh hey, now. That looks really nice.”
“Thank you. You can click on the photos tab and see some pictures.”
“I see.” He went silent momentarily. “Okay, so that wedding cake you made last weekend was pale blue…was that blue velvet?”
“No. The cake was vanilla. If I make a pink lemonade cake, I’d ice it in pink, with pink flowers.”
“Okay, like the one you made your mom, only pink.”
“Well, it’ll be smaller, because there are only twelve people, whereas my mom’s party had fifty.”
“Oh yeah, for sure we don’t need it that big. Okay. Just be creative and make something beautiful.”
She laughed. “Okay.” She paused. “Have you heard from your dad yet?”
“Nah. Who knows. He could have been blowing smoke up— Well. He may never call.”
“I guess.”
They chatted a while longer about various things, Callie updating him on business progress, him telling her about a big project they were working on a bid for, although he didn’t share a lot of details about it.
“Well, I’d better get back to my cookie shots.”
“Your what?”
“Cookie shots.” She described them to him. “I think they’re cool enough to fill now.”
“Oh man, that sounds good.”
“I hope so. I made a lot of them. I’m not even sure what to do with them all. This is when I need a little shop, so I could sell them and get feedback.”
“Yeah. That would be good.”
Her heart climbed up her throat and lodged there. Again, he wasn’t belittling her or trying to talk her out of her dream. Her eyes stung at the fact that Cash supported her when her own family didn’t.
“Okay,” she choked out. “I’ll talk to you soon about the party.”
She ended the call and sucked in a long, slow breath, then moved to the counter to pipe filling into one of the small cups. She popped the first one into her mouth. Damn. That was freakin’ good!
What was she going to do with all these cookie shots?
…
Cash got home from the office the next day at nearly seven, tired and hungry enough to eat his boots. He flicked through the envelopes that had been in his mailbox—crap, crap, and crap—tossed them aside, and headed to the fridge for a beer.
His doorbell rang, and he paused, head inside the fridge. He pulled out a bottle, set it on the counter, and headed to the door.
Callie.
Christ.
Callie.
He opened the door. Because…Callie. “Hey.”
She held up a box. “Cookie shots.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Awesome. I’m starving.”
