a lot more fun than moping at home.
Forty minutes later, I’ve forgotten to be cold. The cider has warmed up my insides, and Ellie can’t stop giggling.
“What do you think this sculpture is supposed to be?” I ask, leaning back against its granite base. I raise my chin and squint up at the odd twisting shapes corkscrewing toward the sky.
“No idea what the artist was thinking!” Ellie shouts. “But I have a theory. A dirty theory.”
“Really?” I eye the sculpture again. It’s easily twenty feet high, but even my dirty mind can’t see anything sexual there. “What do you mean?”
She pulls out her phone and unlocks it. Then she hands it to me. “Google ‘duck penis.’” She burps.
“Did you say ‘duck penis’?”
She pushes the phone into my hands. “Go on. I dare you.”
I never could turn down a dare. So I search that term and—
“Oh. My. God. We’re sitting under a giant duck penis.”
“Three of them!” Ellie shouts.
“How does this even work?” I squint at the phone.
“The duck vagina is very strange,” Ellie says with a sniff.
“And you somehow know the shape of the duck penis and vagina?” I have to ask.
“Apparently.”
“That’s pretty kinky for a virgin, Ellie.”
She hoots with laughter. “This is the only penis we’re seeing tonight.”
“Apparently.” Now we both giggle like idiots.
“I think it’s time to go home,” Ellie says.
“Are you cold?” The hand that’s holding my cider is freezing.
“No but…” She makes a gulping sound.
“Ellie?”
She stands up quickly. Then she doubles over and vomits.
“Oh, shit.” I stand up, too. “Are you okay?”
She heaves again. “Yeah.”
I dig into my coat pocket for a tissue, and thankfully there is one. I pass it to her, and she wipes her mouth. “Let’s get you home.”
When I look up, there are two men approaching. Police officers.
“Ladies, is that an open container?” one of them asks. He shines his flashlight right on my freezing-cold hand.
“Um…” I say helplessly. Of course it’s an open container. “Is that a problem?”
“It’s against the law,” Ellie says. She giggles.
“Let’s see some ID, miss,” the cop says. “I hope you’re both over twenty-one.”
“Uh-oh,” Ellie says slowly. And then she bends over and heaves again.
Twenty-Four
Dylan
“How do I know I’m doing this right?” Rickie asks from the stove. “You didn’t put the thermometer thingie in yet.”
“Just keep stirring,” I say over my shoulder while measuring out sugar into a bowl for another batch. “It takes a long time. When it starts to look like caramel, then we’ll need the thermometer.”
“It smells good already,” Keith says.
“Yup. Keep buttering those pans. Are the other bottles of milk defrosted yet?”
He peers into the giant sink where we’ve set the milk bottles into tepid water. “Halfway, maybe? How long do you have this kitchen for, anyway?” Keith asks. “We’re not going to get busted for breaking and entering, right?”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “A girl I know manages this place. It’s where the college makes catered meals for alumni events.”
“How do you know this girl?” Keith asks with a chuckle.
“The usual way,” I admit, and he laughs. Jeanine is someone I hooked up with a couple of times last year. I totally sidestep his question about how long we’re going to be here. Because caramel takes time.
It’s almost eleven, and my friends would rather be out drinking. I have the kitchen until six in the morning, but I keep that to myself. Hopefully, we’ll be done hours before then.
Hopefully.
I’m in a very optimistic mood right now, honestly. Keith was right—that gig was a blast. We played every tune we know, and then we had to repeat a few. But the crowd was great, and he and I were on fire tonight.
Now I’m making caramels for Chastity, who’s bound to appreciate it. I tried calling her to let her know what I was up to, but she’s not answering. And everything came together at the last minute. Daphne swung by our farm to get the frozen goat’s milk, and I was able to reach Jeanine with my outrageous request.
“Am I getting sexual favors for this?” she’d asked, only half joking.
“Sadly, no,” I’d replied. A hookup is the last thing I need right now. “But you can have my undying gratitude and two boxes of fancy caramels.”
That had done the trick.
“Coffee delivery!” calls a female voice from the doorway.
It’s Kaitlyn. She’s basically the last person I would have asked to help me tonight. In fact, I didn’t ask. But she tagged along with us after the concert, sucking up to my sister, who