Chapter 4
Idon’t speak. Don’t breathe. Don’t even blink, for fear the sight before me will disappear.
I stare at my phone with a dopey grin for a half-hour straight. I spend another half-hour agonizing over how to reply. I finally settle on something simple.
Me: Thanks, Jude. That means a lot.
The brief interaction is like a superpower. I thrive off the high and create the masterpiece of all masterpieces—a dense, spiced-infused cookie with a molasses drizzle. For added appeal, I counter the dark molasses accents with a snowy white glaze.
I plate them on a Christmas-red platter, sprinkle edible snowflakes over the top, and give them a chef’s kiss.
Despite the fact that it’s three past midnight, I shoot Nellie and Mr. Bruce a photo of my Spicy Ginger Delights—the name has a ring to it.
Me: I did it! Come sample these babies during a viewing party of Patty’s segment at my place, 9 a.m. Come early if you want to catch the cartoons.