Page 71 of Arranged Silverfox
A fat glob sat next to Becca’s perfect, round scoops.
Becca giggled and coated her hands in some flour, “It’s okay. We can shape it!” She pinched the dough into a passable ball.
Behind her, one of the industrial ovens dinged.
“And now we’re in business.” Becca grabbed a nearby oven mitt and slipped her hand into it before grabbing the cookie sheet and popping it into the oven.
“Now we need to wait twenty minutes, and you’ll be the proud owner of your own batch of oatmeal scotchies,” Becca said.
“Is it your grandmother’s recipe?” I asked.
Becca nodded. “Yep, that and oatmeal raisin are all her.”
“That’s a wonderful way to honor her,” I noted.
“I know. My father cried when I first told him,” Becca said.
“And your mom seriously doesn’t know about this?”
“She’s never been one to look into my father’s finances. She prefers to stay out of the business side of things.”
I shook my head. “Unbelievable. And you and Olivia—?”
“Olivia’s great! She’s my favorite neighbor on this block. I’m ecstatic to have her as a sister-in-law!” Becca effused.
I grinned. “I bet she’s even more excited. Speaking of, I shouldn’t leave her hanging for too long.”
Becca checked the clock on the wall behind her. “You know, it’s technically my break. I can hang out with you two for a bit if you want. I meant to stop by and ask Olivia how the event went this morning.”
“That’d be great,” I said. Becca grinned and laced her fingers through mine. I pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her lips. Becca melted at my touch. She slipped her tongue into my mouth, and I groaned, placing my hand on the small of her back.
“I missed you,” Becca whispered when we pulled away.
“I missed you, too. So, were you really working with the old ladies all week, or was that a front?” I asked.
“I was doing both. I opened this week, and then I’d go to the community center at four. That’s why I’ve been so tired. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to go out and celebrate the deal with Mr. Quinn.”
I brushed it off with a wave, trying my best to be understanding. “Don’t be sorry!”
“This is my sixth twelve-hour day this week,” Becca sighed.
The oven dinged and Becca grabbed a pair of hot pink oven mitts off a hook on the wall above her. She popped the oven open with ease and reached in, revealing a tray of oatmeal scotchies so fresh they were still bubbling. I inhaled, the smell of cinnamon and brown sugar mixed with the scent of melting butterscotch—it was like heaven on earth. We waited five torturous minutes before Becca grabbed a spatula and slid the cookies onto a cooling rack.
She glanced at me. “Go ahead, try it,” she insisted.
She ducked down and pulled out a small pile of paper plates from the cabinet beneath the counter, placing two still-warm cookies on one. I grabbed one, it was so doughy and soft it practically crumbled in my hand. I took a bite, willing it to cool down, it was so good it was unreal.
“This is amazing,” I said with my mouth still full.
Becca shrugged. “You’re just saying that,” she said as she popped a cookie into her mouth.
“Nope. At this point, I’m a bit of an oatmeal scotchie expert. These are the best I’ve ever had,” I declared.
Becca laughed. “Olivia does ask for them every time she comes in.”
“That’s because of me!”
Becca shook her head. “I still can’t believe it. Small world, right?”