leans across the counter and grabs my wrist as I start to walk away, stopping me. “What’s up, Brand?”
Brand? I think as I turn around, step back to the stool, and sit.
Patrick cocks his head and looks at me oddly. “Yeah, sure, I’m here. Just text me, and I’ll come grab the stuff.” He pauses and nods. “You know my word is good.” He rolls his neck and turns around, using his free hand to grip his neck then rubs it. “No, man, I’m not gonna give you another black eye. You deserved that shit, so quit bringing it up.”
Oh my God. He punched Brand Falcon.
“Treat her right, and you’ll live.”
Her?
“Yeah, love back to you. See you soon.” He shoves his phone back in his pocket, rolls his neck, inhales and exhales a few times slowly, and then turns back around.
“So?” His eyebrow raises.
“So …?” I raise both of mine.
“You a Brand fan?” he asks, or accuses, or …
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, until I said his name, you were trying to jet.”
“I mean …” I shrug. “No, I’m by no means starstruck. I’ve never been into country music, and although I’m not one of those girls, nor will I ever be craving that kind of attention, I’d rather just be left alone. But also, I do get a bit of joy out of knowing how jealous those bitches back at MacArthur would be.”
His head jerks back slightly, as if he’s been slapped or something. “You think, if they knew you were here, they wouldn’t be feeling the same thing?”
I can’t help but laugh a bit.
He scowls, pulls his phone out of his pocket, hits a few apps or whatever, and then slides it across the counter. “Trust me, Savvy; they’d be all sorts of jealous.”
I glance down, see messages, and shrug. “So?”
“Hit any one of those messages.”
“Okay.” I roll my eyes and do so. A nude pops up. “Ew, gross.” I shove the phone back at him.
“So, yeah.” He shrugs.
And it hits me. “You’re jealous that I got a little kick out of the mere thought of making them jealous because I was in the same room as my friend when he took a call? Something, by the way, I would never do.”
“Not jealous.” He nearly pouts.
“Well, good. Because a.), this is a hypothetical conversation.” I snicker at the inside thought. “And b.), jealousy is not pretty, not even on a boy like you.”
His lips twitch a bit in an almost grin, and he looks up at me. “Well, hypothetically, if I was a chick, and someone was sliding into my man’s DMs, I’d be returning fire.”
“Fire?” I laugh.
“Yeah, tit for tit.”
“Great idea. Then everyone could see them. And also, you’re a guy, and after that little morsel I overheard, I’m guessing you don’t need to slide a dick pic out there, because you just use your fists.”
“Gets the point across.” He shrugs. “And trust me, Savvy; even Gandhi would have given him a couple black eyes.”
He pushes the book back. “Let’s make some of your favorite cookies.”
I flip open the cover. “Isn’t this family recipes?”
“Some, but there’s also regular recipes that Momma Joe just added an ingredient, changed the flavor a bit more to her liking, or a tip to change the texture. Each are marked, so if you like just an average sugar cookie, you ignore the asterisk. I’ve no doubt you’ll find your favorites.”
I flip through the book slowly, looking over the pictures of what I assume are younger versions of Patrick’s uncles and father with a plate full of cookies, probably their favorites, and the recipe on the page beside it. The next pages are their wives, and then all of Patrick’s cousins. I pause on his the longest.
“You haven’t changed a bit, little dude.” I smile. “Peanut butter blossoms still your favorite?”
He reaches in one of the bags and pulls out a bag of Hershey kisses. “Gotta make those.” He pulls out some chocolate ice cream with peanut butter. “And we crumble them up and put them on this.”
My favorite ice cream.
Inhaling a deep breath, I push the book over to him. “So, I’ve been sitting here, trying to decide what to tell you. I’ve considered lying and letting you think I was raised in a family that celebrated by making Christmas cookies, but I wasn’t.”
“I get it.”
“My mom …” I pause to collect myself.
“Savvy, if it hurts, just wait until after the holidays, okay? Then you unleash. But—”