7 Cora #3
out twenty-five deeply personal questions for the benefit of strangers you’ve never met?”
Cora gave him her best flirty look. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Because we had met.”
“Sorry. Let me rephrase. Twenty-five deeply personal questions for the devastatingly handsome man you met at the drugstore.”
He transfixed her with a knowing grin.
She wasn’t silent for long. “Devastatingly handsome? Yeah, I don’t think I’ve met him. You were the only person there that
night.”
“Ouch.” He put his hand over his heart and feigned a hurt expression. “Although you’re avoiding the question.”
He wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t thought through how to answer this particular question, which was an oversight on her part. She
should’ve anticipated it would come up. And it wasn’t like she could say the truth.
I’m trying to prove to my sister that the dating app is a hoax and that you’re a jerk who will bolt at the first sign of trouble , seemed offensive.
Plus, it would pretty much guarantee there wouldn’t be a second date, which she kind of needed to prove
her point.
Still, she didn’t want to outright lie to him. It seemed... wrong.
“I, uh...” She mashed the butter in her stainless-steel bowl as she thought through the entire situation.
“I’m at a point in my life where I’m looking for someone who wants a serious relationship.
” It was pretty much true. She just left out the part where she was at that point because she was trying to prove something to her sisters.
“And you had to come five hundred miles to do that?”
The question caught her off guard. “What?”
“I read your bio, remember? Aren’t you from Houston?”
Huh. She hadn’t quite thought through how to address that, either. “Like you said, if I wanted something different, I wasn’t
going to find it in the same place I’d been looking before.”
“You ran out of prospects in a city of two million people?” He gave her a skeptical look.
“It was an exhausting search.”
He chuckled. “I bet.”
They paused their conversation as Gracie went into more details about how to add the right amount of water to the mixture.
“What brings you to Sunnyside?” Jax asked. “Besides widening the search for your soulmate.”
Finally, a question she could answer. “I’m spending the month with my sisters. It’s a whole ‘reliving our childhood’ kind
of thing.”
“That sounds fun.”
She shrugged. “The verdict’s still out. For starters, I’m spending the month with family, so there’s that. Plus, we haven’t
gotten off to a stellar start. My sister had a surprise not-so-great announcement, and I’m still waiting for the airline to
find my luggage.”
“Ah, that explains the pit stop for the toothbrush. And why you’re wearing the same outfit.”
She studied him for a second. “You noticed that? You only saw me for, like, five seconds.”
“Time is irrelevant when staring at such beauty.” He even delivered the cheesy line with Don Juan–type smoothness.
She wanted to roll her eyes but instead a flattered warmth bloomed in her cheeks. Was she blushing? Since when did cheesy
pickup lines make her blush?
She pretended to focus on her dough to divert attention away from her traitorous cheeks. “Does that line ever work?”
“You’d be surprised.” He waggled his eyebrows, then switched to a more sincere tone. “But of course I noticed you. Why do you think I talked to you? My toothbrush wisdom isn’t for just anyone, you know.”
“If your method for finding a serious relationship is picking women up at the drugstore, then you definitely needed the help
of an expert computer.”
“And yet, both methods yielded the same result.” He grinned at her in a way that did nothing to help the cheek situation.
“Unlucky coincidence.”
“Or was it serendipity?”
There was that word again.
The thing was, she didn’t even believe in serendipity. Was it a coincidence that the only other person she’d met in town was
the very same person Bianca’s dating site had matched her with? Yes. But that’s all it was.
She didn’t think they were meant to be together any more than she thought not-a-gym-rat gym rat was meant for Bianca. “It
was something.” She added another spoonful of ice water to her dough and kept mixing. What had started out as dry flour and
a stick of almost-frozen butter was turning into a smooth dough. “I think mine is getting close.”
He stared down at his bowl. “I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for, but this is starting to look less like sand and more
like dough.”
“The next step is to wrap the dough in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge, right?” She glanced at a couple to her left,
who were putting wrapped dough balls into the chilling drawer. The set of friends on their right were already relaxing on
their stools while they waited.
A quick glance around the room told the same story. Everyone had finished mixing their dough. Everyone but them. And if there
was one thing Cora hated, it was losing.
“I think we’re behind. We should probably speed up.”
Jax continued mixing his dough slowly and methodically. “You can’t rush perfection.”
Cora gave her dough one last turn to form it into a big ball, then grabbed the plastic wrap from the supply shelf. “Yeah, but the only two groups who aren’t finished are us and that group in the front who had to start over twice because they can’t follow directions.”
Jax looked up from his dough and glanced in the direction of the group in question. “Yeah, we gotta speed this up.”
“Finally, we agree on something.” She tore off a piece of plastic wrap and lay it out on the counter in front of Jax, then
did the same for herself.
Jax stared down at his bowl. “How am I supposed to get it out?”
“Picking it up seems like the easiest option.”
Jax shook his head. “Nope. Warm hands, warm heart, remember? I’m not going to let my warm, sunny personality ruin my piecrust.”
He narrowed his gaze at her. “Unless you’re trying to sabotage me.”
She picked up her own ball and plopped it down on the plastic wrap. The whole move took less than a second. “I’m willing to
risk it. Live dangerously.” This time, she winked.
Jax picked up his bowl and dumped it over the plastic wrap. He had to shake the bowl until the sticky ball rolled out and
landed on the counter with a soft thud. “ Voilà .”
He pulled the four corners of the plastic together over the top of his ball and twisted them until they were tight. Then he
picked up the bundle by the remaining plastic wrap and carried it to the chilling drawer on the opposite side of their workstation.
“Be prepared for the best.”
She picked hers up and set it in the drawer next to his. “I’m on pins and needles.”
***
An hour and a half later, they kneeled in front of the oven door and stared through the glass as if they could make out the
status of the pies. They couldn’t. At least she couldn’t.
The best she could report was that there were, indeed, still two pies inside. As to the condition of said-pies, there would
be no way of knowing until they opened the door.
“Do you think they’re done?” Jax asked, his oven mitt–clad hands held up like a surgeon waiting for surgery.
Cora twisted her mouth to the side as she studied the glass. “Sure. I mean, the timer went off. The recipe says they’re done.”
He shot her a challenging look. “Do you always live your life following the recipe exactly?”
“If we’re keeping score on taking risks, I was the one who wasn’t afraid to touch the dough with my fingers.”
“A decision we’re all still questioning a bit.”
She met his gaze with a confident one of her own. “I feel good about my choices. You worry about you.”
“I’m really more of a hakuna matata kind of guy myself.”
Geez, what was she getting herself into?
“I say they’re done.” And without bothering to wait for him to agree with her assessment, she pulled the oven open and reached
in to grab her pie. He did the same, and they stood to face each other, pies held with mitted hands between them.
She had to admit, both pies looked amazing. The latticework tops were golden brown with a perfect sheen, and the curls of
steam wafting up from the middle were so ideal they almost looked fake.
“Perfection.” Cora lifted her pie up to her face and breathed in the sugary, blueberry scent before she spun around and set
it on the counter next to his.
Jax had taken off his oven mitts and was leaning against the counter with his signature swagger. “Not bad, if I do say so
myself.” His gaze flickered to the pie in question.
“Just because it’s pretty doesn’t mean it’s a keeper. You promised the perfect crust, after all.”
“I think the exact promise was that it wouldn’t disappoint. Which it won’t.” He grabbed the pie cutter and the two plates
stacked on the counter. “But if it’s not perfect, it’s pretty darn close. Yours, on the other hand?” He gave her a pained
look. “You did touch the dough.”
She shook her head at his ridiculousness. “Lucky for us, we don’t have to keep speculating on whose is better. It’s time to put your money where your mouth is.” She gestured to the pies on the counter. “Or, in this case, pie.”
“Should we get an unbiased judge? We can call Chef Gracie over here for a blind taste test.”
“I’d hardly call your ex-girlfriend an unbiased judge.”
“Old friend.”
“Sure,” she said in a tone that said she didn’t believe him for a second. “But I don’t need a judge. I’m a big enough person
that I can admit when I’ve been beat.” She fixed him with a challenging look. “Are you?”
“Absolutely,” he said without any hesitation. “Although it’s never happened before, so I don’t know exactly what it would
feel like.”
She shook her head. “Just cut your pie.”
She picked up a second pie cutter and sliced into her own pie, but she wasn’t ready for what it revealed.
As she lifted a perfect-looking piece out of the pan, an explosion of mouthwatering scents filled the air, causing a wave
of nostalgia to slam into her.