met me.”
“Who’s Chef Hartley?”
She nodded to her phone. “Guy in the video.”
“Well that’s your problem. You don’t learn to bake cookies from a fancy chef on the internet.”
“Who are you supposed to learn from, then?”
“Native grandmas. Or non-Native grandmas, but you can’t convince me that Native grandmas don’t have something special when it comes to cooking. There’s a reason Gram’s pies win at the Mountain Man festival every year and I’m sure it’s genetic.”
“Well, I don’t have a grandma, Native or otherwise.”
“No, but you have the next best thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Me.”
“You know how to bake cookies.” Her voice dripped with skepticism.
“Fuck yeah, I know how to bake cookies.” I moved to stand next to her and started pushing stuff around to clear a space on the counter. “I learned from the best. Dump that out. We’ll start over. By the way, how’d you text me if your hands are covered in that disaster you thought was cookie dough?”
“I voice texted.” She dumped the bowl and rinsed it out.
“Cool. Okay, do you have chocolate chips?”
“Yeah, four or five different kinds. I wasn’t sure what to get, so I bought some of everything.”
I glanced at all the shit she’d left on the counter. “I can see that.”
She dried out the bowl with a clean towel and set it on the counter. “When I texted you to come over, I figured we’d just fumble around the kitchen and then have to dare each other to eat what we made. Not that you’d know what you were doing.”
I laughed. “I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Gram. Probably because I was the youngest. She always put me to work.”
“Of course she did.”
“Why the sudden interest in learning to bake?”
“I’m just bored. Thought I’d find a new hobby.”
“Does that have anything to do with your bestie having a baby?”
She picked up her drink and took a sip. “Obviously. Everyone knows I’m overly attached to Grace.”
“You guys do have a weird relationship.”
“I know.”
Poor kid was lonely.
I used her phone to find a recipe that looked close to the one I remembered and walked her through it. Chocolate chip cookies weren’t hard, but if you didn’t know anything—which Cara clearly did not—there were plenty of ways to go wrong. I showed her how to measure everything properly and to follow the recipe directions, not just dump everything in a bowl at once. Then we dropped the dough in little balls on a cookie sheet and put them in the oven.
“You’re going to have to take these home with you,” she said, dropping another row of cookies on the second baking sheet.
“Why?”
“Because otherwise I’ll eat them all. I can’t be trusted.”
“No problem. I’ll take them to the firehouse. They’ll last about five minutes.” I went around the island and hoisted myself onto a stool, then leaned my crutches against the counter. “Just keep doing what you’re doing until you run out of dough. I need to sit for a minute.”
“Does your leg hurt?”
“Yeah, and my other leg gets tired from doing all the work.”
“I should send Sven to see you.”
“Who’s Sven?”
“My massage therapist. His hands are magical. I don’t know how I ever lived without him.” She picked up her martini and took a sip. “I made Grace let me schedule her regular prenatal massages. He does in-home appointments so I’ll just text you.”
“Thanks. That sounds awesome.”
“You’re welcome,” she said brightly.
When the first batch came out of the oven, we let them cool for a few minutes, then taste tested. They were perfect—a little crisp around the edges with chewy middles and gooey chocolate chips.
“Holy shit, Gav, you weren’t kidding.” Cara licked chocolate off her finger. “You really can bake cookies.”
“Told you.”
“I must admit, I’m impressed. Turns out you have a side to you I never knew about.”
When the cookies were all finished, she packed most of them into a couple of plastic containers and put them in a bag for me. I figured I’d head straight for the firehouse and share the goods while they were still warm. Chocolate chip cookies were best that way.
I drove down there and got out, struggling a little with the bag. Maybe I needed a backpack or something. I went inside and slowly made my way up the stairs. The kitchen was empty, but the cookies wouldn’t last long once word got around that they were here. I opened one of the containers and left them on the counter.
Chief came in with an empty coffee mug. He was looking