43. Cooper
43
Cooper
I stand in Barney’s office. “What am I missing?”
“Sometimes there’s nothing to miss. And sometimes you gotta comb through everything again.”
“I have.” I drop Leah’s case file onto Barney’s desk. He’s been doing this longer than me. Maybe he’ll take one look and see what I’m not. The key to winning this case.
“And again. And again. But you know that, Coop.”
“I do. And I’ve done that.”
“Again, there may be nothing to miss.”
“I’m not giving up. I can’t. This is Leah. Can you just take one look?—”
“This is your pro bono case. Besides, I’m not gonna see anything you wouldn’t have already.”
“Barney, please?—”
Barney sighs. It’s loud and heavy, and the sound of giving in. “Can we find any dirt on him? Any affairs? Any criminal record?”
My turn to sigh. “Even if I found something, Leah wouldn’t like that. ”
“Well, then,” Barney says. “We’re back to combing through. Good luck, kiddo.” And then my very unhelpful boss shoos me out of his office.
I open split screens on my computer—one side with the information from Leah, the other from PJ’s lawyer. I’ve read Leah’s info a dozen times. I’ve read PJ’s twice as many as that. I click on the extra drive tab, the one I’ve looked through once: PJ’s cookbook.
He’s got a cover in one file, with Sweet Swirls in big, loopy letters on the front. Man, this guy has some nerve. He’s even using a similar font to Leah’s storefront. The next file is his actual recipes. I’m not a chef or a baker, and I don’t care about anything this man has created, but I open the recipe doc up and scroll through the first few. Combing through , just like Barney said. A recipe isn’t going to tell me anything. And yet, I’m looking—for what, I don’t know.
Until I do.
Until I see it.
I’m about seven recipes in when I see the answer, the needle in my haystack, brewed oolong tea .
“Oolong tea.” I don’t remember many details from Leah's book. But I remember this. We talked about oolong tea. She told me the story. This is Leah’s recipe. Ten-year-old Leah’s experiment.
I snatch up my laptop, not bothering to grab my coat—only my keys. I’ve lived in Coeur d’Alene most of my life. I know exactly where I’m going. Minutes later, I pull up in front of Leah’s parents’ home. I’m not sure what her mom does, but her dad gave off very retired vibes. I am banking on at least Zeek being home.
I rap on the door, not even sure what I plan to say. Hi, it’s me, the guy half in love with your daughter here to steal her nostalgic recipe book.
The door opens and Camila, in leggings and a bright orange sweater, smiles up at me. “You’re back.”
“Yeah.” I beam back at her, grateful someone opened the door. I’m finally onto something. “Can I come in?”
“Of course. Are you here to ask for Leah’s hand in marriage?” She tilts her head as if to examine me. “It’s a little early, but I’ll consider it.”
“Oh.” My forehead wrinkles. No sensible words come to my mind, and so that “Oh” just keeps on hissing out without anything else in reply.
“I’m kidding,” she says as she reaches out and shoves at my shoulder. “At least for now. Are you back for more cocoa?”
I breathe out a small laugh. “Actually, can I look at Leah’s scrapbook again? The one with all the recipes.”
Twenty minutes later, I am drinking Camila’s cocoa, sitting at her kitchen table, and combing through PJ’s recipe book digitally with Leah’s scrapbook in front of me. Camila stands just behind me, an occasional curse slipping through her lips.
“That’s my mother’s recipe!” She points at my laptop screen.
“This one?” I ask, tapping the title of the newest recipe on my page. “Salted Coconut Flan?”
“Yes! That weasel. To take my mother’s recipe and my Leah’s name and—” And then, right there in her kitchen, Camila crosses herself. “I swear, Cooper, if you don’t make this man pay, I will! And then you’ll be defending me in a court of law and to the Holy Father. So, let’s save you the time and the effort and just get him now. Eh?”
I tug at my collar, sweating beneath my work clothes. “I’m working on it, Camila. I promise.” A plan is forming in my mind even as I speak the words. “I have more work to do,” I say, code for if my plan fails . “Can I be the one to talk to Leah about it?”
Camila sits next to me, her eyes on mine. In fact, those eyes remind me of a laser; she is tracking me as if I were her target. “You can,” she says. “Because you care for my Leah. And you would never ever do anything to hurt her.”
I’ve never felt more grown-up or more frightened in my life. My feelings are real—they’re strong. And apparently, Camila knows it. I swallow. “I do care for her. And you’re right. I’d never hurt her.”
“Good.” She nods. “Now, fix this, Cooper Do-You-Think-I’m-Sexy Bailey.”