call with my mom. Still, I’d regret it if I didn’t try for another few hours of sleep.
Molly was snoring gently above me. I strained to hear any other sounds in the house, but it was silent. We weren’t due at the gym for another three hours.
I could go on a morning run, but I was too sore. Instead, I lay in bed and shot off a few text messages to my mom, letting her know I’d meant what I’d said the night before and further assuring her that practice was running smoothly and I was having fun. I attached a few photos I’d taken of the property and the house. I knew she’d beg me for more details, but it was enough to sustain her until I got another chance to call her.
After that, I tried to roll over and fall back asleep, but it was hopeless. I’d already had eight hours and I was antsy to get up and move around.
“Molly,” I whispered. “Psst. Molly.”
If possible, she started snoring even louder.
I texted Lexi.
Brie: Awake?
When I didn’t get a reply, I pushed out of bed, resigned to spending the next three hours alone. I brushed my teeth and loosely braided my hair before padding down the stairs in search of a distraction. I made coffee and sipped it slowly, staring out the window at the quiet morning. It was nice, really, trees and grass and a baby bunny hopping in the shrubs. Cool, I’m already bored.
I turned and eyed the baking supplies I’d purchased the day before when we picked up a new coffee pot. Flour, sugar, baking soda, and vegetable oil sat in a plastic bag, untouched. It’d pained me to pay for the supplies at checkout, but I knew I’d go crazy if I couldn’t bake for an entire month. Molly had laughed when I’d carried the bag out of the grocery store.
“What are you going to do with all that? We don’t have an oven.”
“I’ll figure it out,” I replied.
And I would figure it out. I had three hours before practice and I wanted to spend it baking.
Without a solid plan, I reached for the overly ripe bananas on the counter and stuffed them into the bag of baking supplies. I pulled my coffee mug off the counter, slipped on flip-flops, and walked out of the guesthouse.
“Holy sh—.”
The morning chill hit me like I was walking into a deep freezer. I kept forgetting I wasn’t in the middle of Texas, where during the summer, it was a solid 95 degrees even in the mornings. I picked up the pace and leapt up the stairs to Erik’s house, careful not to spill my coffee.
Molly had hinted that his house was off limits the other day, but during the team meeting, he’d never told us to stay out. I mean, sure, it was implied, but I pushed my face against the glass window and spotted the exact appliance I needed: an oven.
I angled around to get a better view of the space. The living room was dark and the only light in the kitchen was coming from outside. I lingered there for a few seconds, shivering in my tank top.
Erik was nowhere to be found. He was likely a normal person, still asleep in a warm bed. I walked back around and tried the door off the kitchen. I told myself if it was locked then I’d leave. I wouldn’t break into the guy’s house just to bake some banana bread. To my delight, the door opened without a hitch, and warm air wrapped around me like a hug.
I walked in quietly and shut the door, cringing when the hinges squeaked. I paused, listening. The house was silent. Phew. I set the bag of cooking supplies on the counter and walked toward the staircase off to the side of the kitchen. I peeked around the corner and stared up, trying to spot Erik’s bedroom door. I couldn’t see anything beyond the second floor landing, and it felt wrong to walk up. Breaking into his kitchen was one thing, but walking into his bedroom while he was asleep was straight-up stalker status.
I decided I would be extra quiet, bake as much as I could, as quickly as I could, and then get the hell out of there before he woke up. The beauty of guerilla baking was that if the aroma did wake him up and I was caught, at least I had breakfast to serve as a readymade