Chapter 1 #3
His face lit up. “Yeah, that!” He nodded and started moving his lips.
I had no idea what he was doing, but it looked like he was forming some kind of words.
Maybe he was reciting the recipe his Aunt Ethel had given him.
I wondered if his Aunt Ethel hated him. “Hmm, what else? Water.” He nodded definitively.
There was nothing he’d listed that could have explained the terrible sour aftertaste that was still clinging desperately to my tongue.
“Oh! The recipe called for something called lemon zest, but I couldn’t’ find any, so I used lemon juice from my bar.
That’s it. That’s all I used.” He paused. “I think.”
I blinked.
He’d used lemon juice in a cookie recipe? That would explain the taste.
My face must have been screaming because color flooded Milo’s cheeks. “Are they not interchangeable? Lemon zest and lemon juice?”
“No. Lemon zest cannot be replaced by lemon juice. They’re two very different flavor profiles, and I’m not sure that either of them belongs in a cookie that has raisins in it.”
“Oh.” He looked down at the baggie of cookies in his hand and then up at me.
“I’m sure they’re not that bad.” Then, before I could stop him, he grabbed a cookie and popped the whole thing in his mouth.
Somehow, he managed to chew and swallow the monstrosity.
He licked his lips and then looked at the cookies.
“Not the worst cookie I’ve ever had,” he declared as he tucked them back in his bag.
I was terrified to know what the worst cookie he’d ever had was if that wasn’t it.
A few minutes later, he declared the tour over, and I was free to go.
I was glad to be away from the energetic man. Something told me he was an acquired taste, and I wasn’t sure I had any desire to acquire it.
An hour later, I was settled in the furnished condo Troy had found for me online. It was a short-term rental, sublet from some businessman who was spending six months overseas. I could survive the season there, and if I got an extension, then I could worry about finding long-term housing.
I unpacked my suitcases and began looking at local restaurants on the food delivery app.
I needed something to eat, and I did not have the energy to go to the grocery store or cook.
I found a health food restaurant nearby that had delivery as an option and ordered a promising looking bowl.
While I waited for it to be delivered, I familiarized myself with my new home.
It was a simple two-bedroom, two-bathroom place with an open floor plan.
The owner had transformed the second bedroom into an office, and I doubted I’d ever have use for it.
The entire place was decorated in a cold minimalist style that would have felt more at home at a boutique hotel than in a place where anyone actually lived.
The kitchen was fully stocked with pans, dishes, and cleaning supplies.
The owner had even left a myriad of coffee pods on a display, so at least I wouldn’t have to suffer through the morning without a cup of coffee.
I would take what victories I could.
Exploring the condo didn’t take long, and soon I was bored. It was too late to call Troy and Raina on the east coast, so I found a book to read until my food was delivered.
I went downstairs to meet the delivery guy and came back upstairs. The moment the elevator doors opened, I heard a familiar voice.
Milo.
He appeared from around the corner, and his eyes went wide. “Rowan!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing at my place?”
His place? No. Absolutely not. “You live in this building?”
He pointed to a door with a garish Scorpions wreath on it.
“That’s mine. Aunt Ethel made me the wreath when I got drafted.
That’s where I was just coming back from.
She lives right over there.” He jammed his thumb toward a door catty-corner to the elevator.
“I wanted to tell her about the cookies. She said the same thing that you did, except she said I’m an idiot for thinking lemon juice and lemon zest were the same thing.
” I didn’t think his aunt was necessarily wrong.
His eyes moved down to the bag in my hand.
“Oh, I love that place. You should try their tuna wraps. They are the best.”
“I’m not a fan of tuna.”
His jaw dropped. You’d think I’d just told him something scandalous to garner that reaction, not that I didn’t like tuna, a trait I likely shared with a good percentage of people on earth. “How do you not like—You know what? Never mind. If you don’t like tuna, you should try the—”
“Milo,” I cut him off. I did not have the energy for this. “I want to go eat my meal and then go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
I escaped down the hall and into my unit’s door before he could answer.
This year was going to be a test of my patience.
Notes
Pro-tip: do not use lemon juice in place of lemon zest. I learned that this ends in disaster the hard way.
At least I can now call that baking disaster research.
Pro-tip #2: Any recipes I use in this story should not be replicated.
I’m pretty sure the story above is evidence enough that I should not be trusted in the kitchen.