It’s what they do.”
With my back turned to Erik, I slid the croissants onto a platter, plated a few for him (though he didn’t deserve their flaky goodness), then scrubbed the dirty dishes in the sink with lightning speed. Erik wanted me out of his space and I didn’t want to lose oven privileges—though by his reaction, I feared taking his grandfather’s call had already ruined any chances of him letting me back into his house any time this century. With the supplies gathered into my arms supporting a precarious croissant tower on top, I rushed out of his kitchen as fast as I could.
He was still speaking on the phone as I slipped outside. I walked slowly back to the guesthouse, realizing that before he’d stormed in and ruined it, I’d had a very relaxing morning. Talking to his grandfather while I baked had helped clear my head, and best of all, I still had an hour before practice—plenty of time to sit and enjoy the fruits (carbs) of my labor over a cup of coffee.
Later that night, while I was brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed, Lexi knocked on my bathroom door and told me I had a package waiting for me out on the front porch. I scrunched my eyebrows, confused. I wasn’t expecting anything from my mom. She had the address to Erik’s house, but that was really only so she would be able to point investigators to the most likely location of my body after Erik killed me.
I finished brushing my teeth before heading down the stairs two at a time. Even if it wasn’t much, the idea that I had mail was too exciting to resist.
I whipped the door open and glanced down, my smile slowly fading as a pink and white box came into focus at my feet.
Easy-Bake Oven was printed across the side of the box in pink cursive.
“What the—”
I leaned forward and ripped off the yellow post-it note stuck to the top.
Stay out of my house was scrawled out in thick black Sharpie.
I looked up at Erik’s house, prepared to march over and throw the Easy-Bake Oven at his head, but then I caught sight of him in his kitchen. He was sitting at the island, hunched over a paperback, reading. One of my croissants was in his hand and I watched as he brought it to his mouth and took a giant bite before turning the page. Bastard.
I looked back down at the pitiful play-oven. It looked like revenge, if any was to be had, would at best be served half cooked and chewy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Erik
In the last two days, my grandfather had called three times looking for Brie. He pretended like he didn’t mind talking to me, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Ten minutes in, after I’d pushed away talk of my father or the impending Olympics, he’d move the conversation on to his next favorite topic: Brie.
“She seems really nice.”
She’s not.
“She was going to send me a recipe. Will you get it from her?”
No.
“I took a picture of my garden. Could you pass it along to her?”
Yeah, let me get right on that.
The morning after I’d dumped the Easy-Bake Oven on the guesthouse porch, I’d walked out of my front door and nearly tripped on the box on the way to my truck. She’d returned it with a butter knife sticking through the side, and despite myself, I smiled.
I wasn’t an asshole with everyone in my life, but Brie pushed my buttons like no one had before. If I gave her an inch, she took a mile. An hour spent in my kitchen and she was answering my phone and laying claim to my personal life. My grandfather was off limits. My home was off limits. Brie needed to learn that I had boundaries. She couldn’t bulldoze through the rules I’d set out for her and expect me to be okay with it. For the next few days, I kept my distance as much as possible, trying to redefine my personal space and ensure she was far, far away from it. I ran the trail before she woke up and didn’t spare her an extra glance unless she was working through a routine. Even then, I watched her as a coach would watch a gymnast.
At practice that day, she walked up and mounted the beam, nailing the Mitchell turn that would help contribute to her high start value in Rio. Her tight, slender body was made for