Chapter Thirteen
LILY
With a five-year-old in the house, laundry is never-ending. I don't know how one small person can dirty so many clothes, but Adam was a pro.
Peanut butter and jelly, markers, dirt, and grass stains. You name it, he got it on his clothes. I never understood the wonder that is stain spray until I had a child. I swear I went through a gallon a month.
I concentrated on folding his little T-shirts just so, smoothing the edges into neat creases, hoping that my focus on the laundry might keep me from thinking about everything else.
It didn't.
My anxious mind couldn't decide what to stress out about and skipped from one problem to another.
Like every other person on the planet, I'd had worries before Trey died.
I'd wondered what I was doing with my life.
If I was a good mom. I'd worried about my marriage and my husband.
Those worries were real, but none of them felt as dire as the worries that plagued me now.
Trey died and left me trapped in this house. I had access to the bank accounts, but nothing else. I'd searched his office from top to bottom. Nothing. I'd been through his closet. Ditto. I'd searched every inch of the house. I didn't know where else to look.
What if he had a safety deposit box? I hadn't found any record of one in his files. That didn't mean much now that I knew the files were missing a lot of other things as well. If he had a safety deposit box, how would I even find it?
It'd be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Different needle, different haystack, same frustration.
I should have been sleeping better with Knox nearby, but there was a ticking clock in the back of my head, counting down to disaster. I didn't know what form that disaster would take, but I knew we couldn't go on this way for long.
A quick double rap sounded on the front door. I jumped, dropping the pair of socks in my hand. I needed to chill out. Yeah, like that was going to happen.
I set the socks in Adam's laundry basket before going to the door to check the camera. Knox filled the screen, his dark, faded T-shirt stretching across his broad shoulders. My heart sped up in my chest a little. Maybe a lot. Opening the door, I looked up into his dark eyes.
“You want to make some cookies?” he asked in his low, rumbly voice.
“Sure, if you think I can manage it without ruining them.”
“All you have to do is follow the directions.” Knox walked behind me into the kitchen and began searching through the pantry, pulling out ingredients and lining them up on the counter.
“I've been following the directions,” I protested. “You know how that's worked out.” I looked at the line of ingredients on the counter. “What else do we need? A bowl and spoon?”
“The usual. Measuring cups, something with a flat top. A kitchen scale would be better if you have one.”
I shook my head, baffled. Why would I need a scale to make cookies? “I don't have a kitchen scale.”
His head inside a cabinet, Knox said, “If you really want to learn to bake, you need a scale. For now, measuring cups with a flat top will work. Just not the glass ones with the handle. Measuring spoons. A saucepan and a soft spatula. Cookie sheets. Two if you have them.”
I started to take out what he needed, studying my glass measuring cups and wondering why they weren't good enough. Then another odd thing on his list caught my attention. “What's the saucepan for?”
“We're going to brown the butter before we mix it in.”
Knox definitely knew more about baking cookies than I did because I'd never heard of browning butter for cookies. “Really? I've never seen a recipe with browned butter.”
Knox waited as I pulled out the cookie sheets, standing beside the line of ingredients, looking down at his phone and tapping on the screen. Absently, he said, “It's a trick Annabelle taught me. Trust me, it's worth the trouble.”
I set the cookie sheets on the counter and stepped beside him. He showed me the screen of his phone with a recipe pulled up. It was titled Annabelle's Chocolate Chip Cookies. Underneath in parentheses, it said (Share this on pain of death. I'm not kidding, Knox.)
“I don't want to get you in trouble with Annabelle,” I said, only kind of meaning it.
I didn't even know this Annabelle, and already, I didn't like her. Not fair, but when he said her name, there was a warmth in his voice that bugged me. It was petty and childish, but a part of me was greedy for Knox. I wanted to keep him for myself.
“Read the recipe twice. I'm going to walk you through it, but you're going to do everything yourself.”
Aside from browning the butter, the recipe was pretty basic for chocolate chip cookies. The most recent failed batch wasn't my first attempt. I set the saucepan on the stove, turned the flame to medium-low, and put the butter inside.
Knox said, “Make sure you keep an eye on that. The butter will brown faster than you think it will.”
I nodded, concentrating on the next part; measuring the dry ingredients. I unsealed the bag of flour and dipped in the measuring cup, pulling it out heaped full.
“Stop.”
I froze, the measuring cup still dangling in the air over the open bag.
“This is the first place you're going wrong,” Knox said.
“Baking isn't like cooking. Cooking you can estimate, follow your gut. Baking is chemistry. You have to follow the formula. That's way too much flour. With that mound on top, you’ve got at least a cup and a third. Give the side of the measuring cup a tap to settle it, then use the handle of the spatula to scrape off the rest. See the measurement beside the cups in the recipe?”
I tapped, scraped and then checked the recipe on Knox’s phone. Sure enough, right beside 2 cups flour, it said or 250 grams. Huh.
“Is that what the scale is for?” I asked, holding up my cup of flour for his inspection. Knox made a sound of approval and I dumped the flour into the mixing bowl.
“Cookies are pretty forgiving, but for some things, you need to use the scale. Macaroons can be a bitch.”
In my experience, cookies were not at all forgiving. If baking was a science, that explained why I sucked. I'd learned to cook by following recipes, but once I got the hang of the basic principles I liked to improvise.
I was so used to it that I hadn't even noticed I was doing it with baking. I thought of all the times I'd casually measured ingredients and how often the end result tasted wrong.
I measured the second cup of flour precisely. I was carefully leveling exactly half a teaspoon of baking soda when Knox said, “Don't forget the butter.”
I whirled around to find the butter bubbling away on the stove and grabbed the handle of the pan to give it a swirl. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. A moment later Adam skidded into the room.
“You didn't tell me Mr. Knox was here. What are you doing? Making cookies?”
“I'm working on it,” I said, giving Adam a quick smile before asking Knox, “How do I know if the butter is ready?”
“It should be a medium-brownish color and smell kind of nutty.”
I gave the butter a sniff. It did smell kind of nutty and was a pretty golden brown. I turned the heat off and set the skillet aside, feeling absurdly triumphant considering all I'd done was brown a little butter.
“Can I help?” Adam asked, bouncing on his toes beside me as his eyes popped from item to item lined up on the counter. “Please, please, please, can I help?”
Knox's hand settled on Adam's shoulder. Adam stopped bouncing and leaned into Knox's grip in a way that sent giddy bubbles through my chest. Knox looked down at him, crinkles in the corner of his eyes.
“Not this time, bud. If you help, your mom will never learn to do it right.” Adam's face started to fall when Knox winked at him. “I think you should be on the executive team. With me.”
“Executive team? What's that mean?”
“It means we're the kitchen supervisors. The Executive Chefs. Your mom is the Sous Chef, which means she has to do what we say. Also, Executive Chefs get chocolate chips. Sous Chefs don't.”
Adam's eyes brightened at the idea of being my boss. I bit the inside of my lip to stop my grin. Ranging himself in front of Knox, Adam crossed his arms over his chest and gave me an imperious look. “We're the boss of you.”
I nodded in agreement. “Okay, boss. What do I do now? The butter is ready, and I measured the flour and baking soda.”
Adam looked at Knox, eyebrows raised in question. Knox leaned down to whisper something in his ear. Adam said to me, “Whisk together the flour and stuff.”
The side of Knox's mouth quirked, and he nodded. “What he said, but first pour the browned butter into that big bowl. Then drop in the rest of the stick so it can melt.”
Knox watched me carefully, snagging the bag of chocolate chips off the counter and opening it. He poured a few into his hand and dropped it down over Adam's shoulder. Adam scooped them away from Knox, shoving every single one in his mouth at the same time. I rolled my eyes but didn't say anything.
I was intent on using the soft spatula to slide every single drop of butter out of the sauté pan into the mixing bowl before I added the rest, chopped into squares so it would melt faster.
I gave the dry ingredients a stir until they were thoroughly blended and turned, whisk in hand, to wait for my next order from the executive chefs.
“Measure the sugar and salt the same way you did the flour. Carefully. Then whisk them into the butter.”
I took my time, overriding my natural instinct to estimate. Knox watched my deliberate movements with a hint of a smile on his lips. Adam pretended to supervise, but his little hand was creeping up to the counter, reaching for the bag of chocolate chips.
Our house was never a free-for-all when it came to candy, but I let it go. I had other priorities, namely not messing up these cookies. Once the sugar and salt were added to the butter, Knox directed me to pour in the teaspoons of vanilla and whisk again.
“Now, one egg and one egg yolk into the butter and sugar mix.”
I picked up an egg and started to crack it on the side of the bowl.
“Stop.”
I froze, egg in hand less than an inch from the side of the stoneware bowl. “What? What did I do?”
“Don't crack the egg right into the bowl. You're not ready for that. Break the eggs into one of those glass measuring cups, and when you know you got it right, pour the egg and the egg yolk into the butter mix.”
I let out a huff of indignation but did as I was told. This wasn't my first time in the kitchen even if I was a crappy baker. I knew how to crack an egg.
I proved myself wrong when I tried to separate the yolk from the white and ended up dumping the whole egg into the measuring cup. Oops.
Adam burst out laughing. Knox was kind enough not to say he'd told me so. I got his point about putting the eggs in the measuring cup before tossing them into the butter mix. On my second try, I separated the yolk cleanly from the white. When everything was incorporated, I stopped and looked up.
Adam said, “What's next, Mr. Knox?”
“We eat more chocolate chips,” Knox said. “Your mom keeps whisking until the lumps are all gone.”
I did.
“Now we let it sit for a few minutes. Then you whisk it again for thirty seconds. Do that two times until it’s thick but smooth and a little shiny.”
“Oookay,” I said, wondering exactly what these repeated whisks were supposed to accomplish. Everything was mixed together, wasn’t that enough? Apparently not.
Adam had chocolate smeared all over his face. I snuck my hand over to snag a chocolate chip. Adam smacked my fingers.
“Sous chefs don’t get chocolate chips,” he said.
“Do executive chefs get chocolate all over their faces?” I asked tartly.
“This one does,” Knox said. Nudging Adam’s shoulder he went on, “Your mom's been doing a good job. I think she deserves a reward, don't you?”
Adam looked dubious, and before I could figure out what Knox meant, he slipped a chocolate chip between my lips. The sweet, rich chocolate melted on my tongue. My breath caught, leaving me off-balance and elated.
I rolled the chocolate chip over my tongue and went back to whisking, looking down to hide the flush in my cheeks.
“Adam, I need your help for this part.” Knox nudged him closer to me. Adam straightened and lifted his chin.
“What do you need me to do, Mr. Knox?”
“Help me hold this bowl for your mom. We're going to slowly pour in the flour as she stirs.”
Knox positioned Adam's hands on the bowl and helped him tilt it so the flour would slip in a little at a time. Keeping one hand on the rim in case Adam lost his grip, Knox jiggled the bowl, teasing a sprinkle of flour into my smooth and shiny mix of eggs, butter, and sugar.
Looking at me, he said, “Stir slowly. We don't want to overwork it.”
I was getting good at following orders. I gently mixed in the flour, watching it disappear into the butter and eggs.
Finally, it looked like cookie dough. When the bowl was empty, Knox set it aside and handed Adam the remains of the bag of chocolate chips.
“Do the same thing with these. Not all at once.
Your mom's going to keep stirring the same way.”
The last chip slid into the dough, and Adam dropped the bag, not noticing as it bounced off the side of the counter to hit the floor. I'd get it later. He stuck his head over the side of the bowl.
“Can I lick the spoon, Mom? Can I? Can I? Can I? Please? Please?”
I thought about raw eggs and salmonella and decided some things were worth the risk. I handed Adam the handle of the spoon. He shoved it in his mouth, his cheeks bulging wide, a glop of dough sticking to his bottom lip.
Well, what did I expect? He was five, and there's no such thing as table manners where cookie dough is concerned.
“Now what?” I asked. I was pretty sure it was time to put the cookie dough on the sheet and pop it in the oven, but I wasn't taking any chances. These cookies looked too good to screw up.
“Use the scoop next to the measuring cups. One scoop per cookie, eight on a sheet. We'll bake them in stages.”
Adam finished licking the spoon and started to dip it back into the bowl when Knox's hand shot out, deftly plucking it from his little fingers. “Wait until they're done, bud.”
“I have to wait? How long?”
“Not that long. You can go back to whatever you were playing with and we'll call you when they're ready. They have to cook for a little bit and then cool off.”
“K. But call me as soon as they're ready.”
“The second you can eat them,” Knox promised.
The cookies were in the oven, and Adam was upstairs. I decided to take advantage of the time alone with Knox.