Chapter 49 Karma Cookies
Karma Cookies
Tessa
From the doorway to the kitchen, Maisie was staring like I'd lost my mind.
Her hair was mussed, her posture was loose, and she was wearing an oversized T-shirt and leggings – in other words, her pajamas.
She said nothing, but her expression said it all. What on Earth are you doing?
Good question.
For hours, I'd been asking myself the same thing. After getting off the phone with my mom, I'd been too rattled to sleep and too wired to even try.
Plus, I'd been obsessing over karma – in Chicago, on the island, and even somewhere in Paris, where my mom was racking up one heck of a debt. And I didn't only mean with money.
Life had given her so much – beauty, brains, and a fortune. But what had she given out in return?
Not a whole lot.
Not even affection for her youngest daughter.
My sister.
Maisie's friend.
Where was she, anyway?
With Maisie, I'd been dropping little hints here and there, praying that she'd eventually give me some clue where Delaney was. But she hadn't, which meant either she didn't know herself or Delaney had asked her to keep quiet.
But maybe – just maybe – now that Maisie and I were friends – sort of – she might be willing to share more than silence.
Not now, apparently. At the doorway, she was still staring like I'd invited a troop of cookie elves into her kitchen.
I glanced around, seeing what she saw in the morning light. The mixing bowl was in the sink with the beaters soaking inside. The kitchen table was littered with baking supplies – flour, two kinds of sugar, and that empty bag of chocolate chips. And then, there were the cookies.
Lots and lots of cookies.
Now that I noticed, they covered every free patch of space, from the counter near the fridge to that shelf beside the sink. Even that bakery box of raisin-slathered bagels had a fresh pile of cookies resting on top.
I bit my lip. Maisie's kitchen wasn't a complete disaster, but it did give off the vibe of someone spiraling.
That person was me, standing in the middle of the chaos like a baking montage come to life.
I hadn't slept, but I had been productive. By the time the first rays of sun had filtered through the kitchen window, I'd already brewed a full pot of coffee and had the first batch of cookies cooling on the counter.
I looked back to Maisie and summoned up a smile. "If you're delivering those raisin bombs, you should bring a box of something better to balance the karma."
I meant it, too. The last thing I needed now was more bad luck – and not only for myself. For all I knew, bad karma was contagious, which meant that Maisie and Ryder could be caught in the crosshairs if I wasn't careful.
Or maybe that was just the lack of sleep talking.
Sometime around four in the morning, I'd started wondering if I was the villain in someone else's story – probably my sister's. And then, at five o'clock, I'd gone off on a mental tangent about how fast everything had gone off the rails – and who I might be dragging with me.
Even now, I wasn't quite sure. But it wouldn't be Maisie if I could help it.
At the doorway, she blinked several times like my word salad of karma and raisin bombs had made her a little dizzy.
Slowly, her gaze strayed to the box of defiled bagels that I'd whined about just last night. Probably, she was replaying our conversation and wondering if my crackup had started right then and there on her couch.
Had this been only twelve hours ago?
It felt like longer, because during those hours, I had walked all over the island, kissed Ryder Vaughn, and learned that my mom was in Paris blowing Delaney's money.
Oh, and I'd baked cookies – all chocolate chip. Was that a good thing? Or a bad thing?
When Maisie still said nothing, I asked, "He does like chocolate chip, right?"
She reached up to rub at her eyes. "You mean…Griff?"
The cookies weren't only for Griff. I'd made a bunch for us, too. And yet, as I'd been baking my little heart out, I'd been thinking a lot about sharing some with Ryder.
It was like that fudge fantasy all over again. But this time, instead of strolling with peanut butter fudge, we were strolling with fresh-baked cookies and gourmet coffee, made by somebody more talented than myself.
But that was silly, right?
And besides, Ryder wasn't the reason I'd gone all Betty Crocker in the middle of the night. By the end of it, my thoughts had gotten so jumbled, I could've been baking cookies for Evan Carver for all I knew.
Sleep deprivation – it really wasn't my friend.
So of course, I had to sort it out yet again, telling Maisie, "Well, I wouldn't make cookies for Ryder."
Or at least, not only for Ryder.
Hopefully.
Maisie still looked half-asleep. "Right." She gave an uncertain nod. "I'm sure he'll love them."
She meant Griff, obviously. But my brain had other priorities – like picturing Ryder, possibly shirtless, munching on a warm, gooey cookie while undressing me with his eyes. Yup, this was definitely a problem.
Shoving aside the distraction, I replied, "Let's hope so. I was so worried, I couldn't sleep."
This at least was no lie. Except my worries had nothing to do with cookies and everything to do with my mom and karma and those three amazing kisses I'd shared with a certain somebody who I definitely wasn't baking cookies for.
But now, Maisie was looking worried, too. "Really?"
Crap. I hated to upset her. This was part of the reason I wouldn't be telling her about that phone call with my mom or about locking lips with her employee's friend.
The whole thing felt like a ticking time bomb, especially the part with Delaney. When my sister learned about the missing money, she'd surely blame me – unless, of course, I had the chance to explain it first.
But that wouldn't happen if Maisie told her beforehand.
All this to say, I knew when to keep my mouth shut for the sake of everybody involved. Still, I had to say something to explain my impromptu bake-a-thon.
Finally, I landed on the perfect excuse. "Yeah, I mean, I have to give him the raisin things, right? If I don't, let's say Ryder complains, I could lose my job."
Like that would be a tragedy.
I'd been doing a lot of rethinking, and the job had come up short. In fact, I'd done so much rethinking that I'd texted Skip two hours ago and told him I'd be late for work.
And when he'd complained?
I'd told him to dock my pay.
Hah!
At the doorway, Maisie's expression finally cleared. "Ohhhhh. Right."
"And you know what else?"
"What?"
I tried to look severe. "These new cookies – they'll totally ruin Ryder's prank." They wouldn't actually. But it would balance the karma – because as long as I was looking out for myself, it didn't hurt to look out for Ryder, too.
Regardless, Maisie finally laughed, making me smile in return. It wasn't that my troubles were forgotten. But it did help chase away the gloom.
By the time she showered and left for work – taking some freshly baked cookies along with that box of raisin-slathered doom – the kitchen was clean, and I was ready to face another day at the coffee shop.
Sure, I'd be a few hours late, but honestly, I was finding it hard to feel guilty. Or maybe I was just so overwhelmed with guilt over Delaney's money that showing up late for a coffee shift paled in comparison.
Other than being late, I expected it to be a normal day. Turns out, it was anything but.
And it all started with an ugly handwritten sign.