9. Day nine
Day nine
T he next day Peter welcomed me by throwing the door open and running back into the depths of his penthouse.
I was miffed for a second, but then my sense of smell told me something was burning. Alarmed, I tracked Peter to the kitchen.
The poor man was acting like a headless chicken as he took three batches of cookies from his state-of-the-art oven. Three batches of burned cookies.
“They are all ruined,” Peter said despondently. “It’s a good thing I prepared for such a possibility… Here, give Leo those.”
I was handed a beautiful box of fancy cupcakes from the fridge.
“Hell no. You are not going to give Leo pre-made cookies when you made some from scratch. Look, not all are burned beyond saving. There should be a few edible ones,” I insisted and swiped one of the better-looking cookies. They were a bit too dry and yes, slightly singed, but hey, a cookie is a cookie. The sugary sweetness was still present and the chocolate chips melted on my tongue.
I moaned.
“You like them?” Peter asked carefully, as if he couldn’t believe it. He probably never ate anything less than perfect looking while I was used to scarfing up various culinary abominations.
“Mmm, I’m a whore for any cookie,” I confirmed. My casual swearing made Peter blush. It was so fun to play with his stuck-up sensibilities. “But I better not eat any more of those… not if we want to have any left for Leo.”
“Ah. Correct. What do you think about this one… and the one in the corner… and…”
We picked out about six cookies that looked the best and Peter put them in a pretty organza bag with golden swirls on the fabric.
With a reassuring nod, I left for my delivery.
“I think Peter took your chili con carne as a challenge,” I said, giving Leo the organza bag.
“Is that… are those homemade cookies?!” Leo exclaimed with delight.
Before I could even answer the question, he already had one of the cookies in his mouth, chewing happily.
“You look like Leonard with his favorite fruit,” I teased.
“I canth hwelp it,” Leo said around the cookie before he swallowed. “Homemade cookies just hit different.”
“You don’t mind that it’s burned?”
“Are you kidding? It’s the light-colored, fluffy, barely baked cookies I can’t stand. This is good. I like a bit of a crunch,” Leo explained, his hand already reaching for another cookie.
“Good. Peter was nervous about your reaction.”
“That sweet man.” Leo shook his head in disbelief. “He is really putting his all in those gifts, isn’t he?”
“Are you going to give him a chance? You already started flirting back with your haiku…” I said leadingly.
“Maybe.” Leo’s gaze was pensive. He fiddled with the bag of cookies, closing and opening it repeatedly. “But it’s not that simple.”
I nodded, not wanting to pry, but I couldn’t help but notice how Leo’s gaze tracked me during my stay, as if he was worried I would vanish.
“Success!” I declared upon entering the penthouse. “He ate half the cookies in front of me and squirreled the rest away as if they were the most precious treasure.”
Peter perked up.
“Maybe I should bake something else for him? Maybe cook? Yes, I should prepare a five-course meal—”
I took his head in my hands and made him look at me before he got too excited.
“Hold your horses, bucko. On a scale from 1 to 10, how high is the possibility you will start a fire in your kitchen?”
“…at least 5,” Peter admitted with a wince.
I raised my brow.
“Alright, maybe it’s not the best idea.”
“Try something simple and small if you have to. Make him an amazing salad next time. Or follow a YouTube tutorial on how to turn an apple into a swan,” I advised, letting go of his face because I had an urge to squish his cheeks and that would be probably taking it too far even if we were friends now.
“Got it,” Peter said.
As we walked to the living room to take a seat at the table, I noticed his own hand touched his cheek, exactly in the spot where my fingers were just a minute ago. Hmm. Curious.
“What splendid work of art did our poet send this time?” Peter asked once we were facing each other across the table.
I unfolded the piece of paper eagerly.
“I realize now
You are like those cookies
Wonderfully sweet.”
“I am not sweet…” Peter grumbled, his ears red.
“Oh, Peter, you are so sweet I could eat you up,” I tried for a teasing tone as I leaned forward, but it came out more like a purr.
Peter’s breath hitched.
I leaned back slowly and made my excuses to go.
We both pretended that charged moment did not happen.