“Hey girl!” Emma appeared in the hallway, wearing the baggy clothes that were her uniform when she was volunteering here. She’d dried her hands, but her shirt was wet with splotches of soap and water. “I’d hug you, but I’ll end up doing damage. Did you bring me cookies?”
“Kind of,” Maeve said.
Emma, who’d been her best friend since middle school, took the chair next to her and brushed the dark hair back from her face. “Good. Because I am so in the mood for cookies.”
“I’m assuming you’ve already washed the dog off your fingers?”
“Don’t be toxic,” Emma said, and stuck out her tongue.
“I’m struggling not to be, after the day I had.”
“What happened?”
Maeve glanced over at Bobbie, who’d returned to the reception desk, but the girl seemed more focused on her phone than anything else. So Maeve broke down her day — the bank, Leroy and David, the competition.
“So that’s what the cookies are for?” Emma asked.
“Yeah, but there’s more to it than that. Guess who I saw at the college office?”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t someone nice, like Santa Claus. Or Chris Hemsworth.”
“You’re still on a Chris Hemsworth kick?”
“The man plays a literal god, Maeve. Everyone should be on a Chris Hemsworth kick.”
“Well, unfortunately, it wasn’t Chris Hemsworth. Or Santa. Let’s face it, there’s equal chance of them being in the community college office in Logan’s Creek. It was her.”
“Jassie,” Emma said through gritted teeth. The way her name deserved to be said. “Don’t tell me she’s entering this competition too.”
“You know, that thing she does?”
Emma drew herself up straight and pressed her palm to her chest. “Oh, it’s so lovely to see you again. That’s such a gorgeous bracelet — I didn’t know Goodwill gave those away.”
“Exactly. But swap out the bracelet for baking, and oh, I don’t know, my future.”
“Such a diva.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Remember the time she pulled up your skirt in front of—”
“Don’t. The scars told me that story this morning.”
“Maybe because every time Tom Fowler sees you he calls you ‘Grandma Panties.’” Emma giggled, pressing her hand over her mouth. She cleared her throat. “Sorry, that wasn’t very supportive of me.”
“To be fair, that’s what I was wearing.”
Emma put a skinny arm around Maeve’s shoulder and drew her into a side-hug, keeping the wet spots of her shirt away from her. “Don’t let her get to you. She’s just jealous.”
“Jealous? Of me?” Maeve shook her head. “Everyone’s jealous of Jassie, not the other way around. She’s got a hot boyfriend, she’s rich and beautiful, she can have anything she wants, and—”
“She doesn’t have your natural talent for baking. A fat bank account and a country club membership don’t make her a great pastry chef, as much as she wants them to.”
Maeve leaned her head against Emma’s for a minute, smiling. She always knew the right thing to say or do. She’d been the one cutting the gum out of Maeve's hair in the sixth grade — another of Jassie’s cheap tricks.
“Now,” Emma said, “how about you let me try one of these cookies before I die of starvation? Or desperation. I swear, I can smell them through the Tupperware.”
“Can I have one too?” the receptionist asked.
“Sure! I need to know exactly what you think.” Maeve lifted the lid, and the aroma of cookies drifted out of the Tupperware. She gave one to Emma, then brought the container to Bobbie.
Before she could snag a cookie, a shout rang out from the back of the shelter. Followed by a splash of water, a yelp, and the skitter-scratch of paws on the floor.
“What’s going—?”
“Hey!” a woman yelled.
A dog slipped into the hallway and darted toward the reception area, dripping wet, its brown fur slick against its lean, muscular body.
Maeve squealed and jumped back.
But it was already too late. The dog saw her and pounced.
Chapter Four
Baker had never smelled anything so good.
It reminded her of the time when she’d snuck a bite of bread from Michael’s plate that had been covered in something gooey that stuck to the roof of her mouth.
This was like that, only better, because it was also sweet.
It was coming from the container in the new lady’s hands.
Baker jumped for it, slamming into the woman’s belly, jaws just missing the edge of the container that held the really amazing smell.
The lady screamed and threw her hands up. The container turned end over end in the air, spilling out brown disks onto the floor. They fell and cracked into pieces.
Baker spun around them, drool dripping from her lips as she slurped up the nearest piece.
The first bite was heaven, way better than kibble. Baker licked up the crumbs greedily, then lunged for the next piece.
“Get it away from me.” The lady pressed her back to the wall, next to a door that smelled like outside. Fresh air. And cheese.
This was so much better than getting a bath from the man who’d dragged her out of her kennel. Baker didn’t know his name, and didn’t want to learn it. He reminded her too much of Michael.
“Maeve, relax.” Emma, the one with soft hands and lots of whispers, walked toward the new lady. “It’s okay. She’s not going to hurt you. Look, see? She just wanted some cookies.”
“Oh, no. No way did she want some cookies. You saw the way she jumped at me. She wanted to bite me. She wanted to—”
“Maeve, relax, honey.”
But Maeve’s eyes were wide, and she was breathing hard.
Baker ate the last cookie and turned toward Maeve, tail lowered. She crouched down, water still dripping from her fur, and laid her head on her paws. Would Maeve hurt her, too?
“I know what dogs are like. I’ve been bitten before!”
“I know, honey.” Emma petted her friend on the arm. “But look, she’s not growling or anything.”
“She ate the cookies. All of them. Em, those were my competition entry cookies. I needed you to tell me what was wrong with them so I could refine the recipe.”
Maeve’s voice was squeaky. Baker twitched.
“Look, there’s still this one.” The volunteer girl behind the desk lifted half a cookie from behind the counter. “She didn’t get it.”
Both of the other women stared at the girl as she put the cookie on the counter.
Baker wagged her tail, slowly, hoping she’d drop it by accident. Those cookies were the best thing she’d ever eaten.
Maeve was still against the wall, looking at Baker like she wanted to bite her. But why would she be afraid?
Maybe a bad man had hit her too, or fed her bad things, or left her behind in the park.
Baker wagged her tail once. To let Maeve know that she understood.
“She likes you,” Emma said.
“No, she doesn’t,” Maeve replied. “She just liked the cookies.”
Baker wagged her tail again. Maeve smelled like cookies and grass and fresh air.
“Baker’s shy too,” Emma said.
Maeve made a hiccuppy kind of sound. “The dog’s name is Baker?”
“According to the person who brought her in. Apparently he found her in the dumpster behind the grocery store where he worked, eating a loaf of Graceful Baker bread that was beginning to go moldy.” Emma cocked her head like she’d just seen something she’d never seen before. “Pretty funny, when you think it about it. The first person Baker’s ever wagged her tail at is also a baker.”
“The first person?”
“She doesn’t like people.”
“I can relate to that.” Maeve laughed. Her shoulders relaxed, and she came away from the wall. Baker stayed where she was, stilling even her tail.
“She did just give your cookies a
stamp of approval.” Emma walked to the counter and brought a lead from behind it. She slipped the loop around Baker’s neck. “See? She’s not going to bite you.”
She wasn’t going to bite Maeve. Baker didn’t hurt people. People hurt her.
“Why don’t you try petting her?” Emma asked. “I’ve never seen her so docile.”
“She’s probably just full,” Maeve said.
“No, I’m serious. This is really weird. Baker’s been here a while, and she’s never let anyone touch her. She doesn’t even like it when Leslie goes near her, and all the dogs love Leslie.”
“Feed her this,” the other girl said, holding up the half-eaten cookie.
Baker thumped her tail against the floor a couple of times. If she got a cookie for it, she’d let Maeve pet her all day.
“You’ve got to be crazy,” Maeve said. “I’m not putting my hand near those teeth.”
“Come on, grow a pair of ovaries. She’s just a dog.”
Maeve took a deep breath. Then she accepted the half-cookie from the girl and brought it toward her. Baker stayed on the floor, paws pressed flat, but lifted her head.
She didn’t want to scare Maeve. She might not give her the cookie.
Maeve held the cookie on her palm, but her face was white as a sheet.
“Here, girl, this is for you.”
The cookie came closer. Baker carefully ate it off Maeve’s palm, licking her skin for crumbs afterward. Her other hand came down on Baker's head, and she stroked the fur between her ears.
It was nice. A warm, happy feeling bloomed across her body and legs. When it got to her tail, she couldn’t help wagging it faster.
“See? She likes you,” Emma said.
Maeve backed away fast. “There. I did it. Happy now?”
“You know, I’d be even happier if you actually adopted a dog.”
“What? That’s crazy.”
Could Maeve have any more cookies? Maybe in one of her pockets?
“A dog is always better than a boyfriend, and you need company. I know how lonely you’ve been in that big old house of yours.”
“Yeah, let’s say that louder. I don’t think everyone in Staples heard you.”
The sound of Emma’s laugh rolled through the room. A sweet sound, but Baker didn’t wag her tail this time.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to go home with Maeve. What if she hit her for eating the cookies instead of petting her?
Baker sighed.
“Dogs are awesome,” Emma said, lifting a finger. “They’re loyal. They’re always happy to see you. They’ll never cheat on your or hurt you. They’re funny. They’ll protect you and your house. They’ll love you unconditionally. And let’s face it, we both know you’re not going to be dating anytime soon.”
“I’m not going to be getting a dog anytime soon, either. Especially not that dog,” Maeve said. “You saw the way she jumped at me.”
“She was probably freaked from being washed, dude. Besides, you were the one who threw the cookies all over the place. You’re both a little jumpy.”
“Thanks, I appreciate you comparing me to a dog,” Maeve replied with a laugh.
“She’s never done anything like this before.” Emma tugged at the leash and walked Baker back toward the kennels. “You must be special.”
“Or she just likes cookies,” Maeve called. “Speaking of which. I have to go make another batch.”
The front door slammed a moment later, and she was gone.
Of course she was.
Baker couldn’t trust anyone, not even Maeve and her yummy cookies.
Chapter Five
Maeve paced the kitchen, a towel slung over her arm and butterflies making a mosh pit in her belly. Her fourth attempt to invent the perfect healthy peanut butter cookie was almost ready to come out of the oven. This batch had small quantities of almond and coconut flour, in addition to the ancient grains she’d started with yesterday. She was trying to solve the texture problem — the perfect cookie wouldn’t be the slightest bit chalky.
Two days to the deadline. Not enough time to refine the recipe through trial and error.
And at this point, Maeve no longer trusted her tongue to tell her whether each round was getting better or worse.
But maybe this would be the perfect batch.
Unless she’d already made the perfect batch, and that deranged dog had eaten them all.
“Stupid dog,” she muttered, and tried to ignore her guilt for having said it out loud.
But how could Emma even suggest that she adopt a dog, knowing how she’d been bitten as a child? Let alone Baker, who’d practically attacked her to get a cookie?
Besides, dogs were a lot of work. You had to feed them and bathe them and take them for walks and who knows what else. Maeve barely had enough time for David when they were together, and he was a grown man who could feed and bathe and entertain himself.
If she couldn’t handle living with a boyfriend, she definitely couldn’t handle bringing a dog into her life.
Her phone dinged for the billionth time. She’d stopped checking her texts around dinnertime yesterday, because she wasn’t going to reply to the thirty-odd messages Leroy had sent about shades of green, and graphic design emergencies, and was she going to reply or was he going to have to talk to her supervisor?
If she won the HealthNut contest, Maeve would never have to talk to Leroy again.
But the ticking on the oven’s timer was driving her to distraction. She checked it again. Two minutes before the cookies came out of the oven, then they’d need to cool on the rack for at least another fifteen before she could taste them. The judge would be eating them cold, so she needed them to be near room temperature to get a good flavor profile.
Ideally, Emma would taste them and tell her what she needed to change, but she had another shift at Pretty Paws today, and no way was Maeve going back there so some other dog could ruin this batch.
Besides, it could take another dozen tries to get the recipe just right, adjusting it each time based on the previous batch. If Maeve had to run out of the house to get feedback on every batch, she’d never make the deadline.
She’d just have to make it work.
She tucked the kitchen towel into the front pocket of her Don’t Kiss the Cook apron, then retrieved her laptop from the living room and set it on the kitchen counter, next to the cooling rack half-filled with the last batch of too-sweet cookies.
The timer hadn’t shifted at all, still two minutes left. Had time actually stopped?
Two days. Only two days. Her heart thudded in her chest.
Maeve opened her laptop and found her LiveLyfe profile still open. Thankfully, the images of David were gone.
They’d been replaced by something even worse.
An update from Jassie St. Clair, shared by one of Maeve’s supposed friends. She definitely wasn’t friends with Jassie — the point had been to ignore Jassie for the rest of her natural, and unnatural, life.
No such luck this time.
Look who’s finished her submission for the HealthNut Corp Baking Competition. First prize, here I come. It’s all healthy, gluten-free, made with almond meal, fresh cocoa and coconut milk. Not that you need to know all the ingredients in my secret recipe!
That was the caption. Totally Jassie’s style. Underneath it was the picture of what she’d made.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Maeve hissed.
Jassie had whipped up a full-on, two-tiered dark chocolate cake.
So much for keeping it simple.
Worse, it was the exact same type of cake they’d made back in Home Ec. The last time Maeve had actually botched a baking project. Jassie’s had turned out perfectly, impressing Mrs. Rasmussen.
It wasn’t a coincidence — it was a message, aimed laser-tight in Maeve’s direction. Remember this other time I beat you?
“Now she’s being passive-aggressive through baking?” Maeve pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping against hope to wa
rd off a headache. “Typical.”
This was the challenge, the glove thrown, and she was supposed to rise to it. Should she try to outdo Jassie by making something fancier for her first entry?
Or was it smarter to keep it simple and aim for the best possible version of that simple item?
Maeve leaned in and studied the picture. Jassie had decorated her cake with faux flowers. Or real ones. Who knew? Maybe she'd decided to go so healthy and natural that she’d added in fresh grass from her front garden for extra fiber.
She struggled not to slam the laptop closed again. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up breaking it for real, and then what would she do?
Instead, she strode to the cupboards, flung them open, and rooted around inside for her big leather-bound book of recipes.
She heaved it out and slammed it on the counter. This was where she kept every perfected recipe — some handed down from her grandmother, others she’d adapted or even created herself. Loose papers tucked between the pages, filled with hastily scrawled notes or measurements, stained here and there with splashes of vanilla extract or melted chocolate.
If she couldn’t find something in here to beat Jassie’s submission, she’d eat her apron.
Maeve paged through, frantically, all while the timer on the oven ticked away, and the scent of warm peanut butter filled the kitchen.
“No, not this,” she muttered, flinging one page after another aside. “Definitely not that.”
All of these recipes were delicious, but many would be nearly impossible to get right with vegan ingredients.
Her cell phone trilled from the living room, and she went to answer it, my mind whirring with possibilities. What about a triple-tiered vanilla cake with organic, cream-cheese frosting … no, wait, vegans didn’t eat dairy, could she mimic cream cheese with—
“Hello?” she answered.
“Having a good evening?” Jassie’s snark pinged in Maeve’s ears, and any hope of having a good evening evaporated.
“How did you get this number?”
“Let’s just say, I have my sources.”
Baker's Dozen Page 3
