Jo’s eyes narrowed as she cut a ruthless glare to Colt (as he had the audacity to fault her appearance), one that was more out of habit than anything. Even though being back home had been nothing but a whirlwind – trying to find her place back in a town that had seemed to fill the spot she had left wasn’t easy. Even with nights out at Joe’s, the dingy bar in town, or when she went to the market to grab groceries, the locals talked to her as if they were struggling to keep afloat. Sure, the first few meetings were wholesome and filled with the same questions that tumbled out of their mouth too quickly, at times.
“How have you been?”
“Found a man, yet?”
“Still gonna be helping out your parents?”
“Have you heard how Grace is doing?”
This town, this land, had built her into the woman she was. Gruff, a little temperamental, and too prickly to let anyone past the front door. And yet, she still felt the outcast. The only ones who had seen the girl’s true colors weren’t exactly a fan. Her sister. The ex-boyfriends that turned and tucked tail after a month at the max.
Colt.
While relearning how to mold herself back into home, falling into old habits with Colt had been fairly easy. Too easy. Surprisingly, it was the most comforting thing about home, at the moment. While everyone else had moved on while her life was put on pause, it was refreshing to know that even jackass Colton Walker could still make her blood boil.
As he washed his hands fiercely in the kitchen sink, Joanna toyed with her bottom lip, pulling it into her teeth. She followed the recipe… Or as close as she could. Somewhat. Partially.
Okay, maybe she skipped a few steps and exchanged some measurements between ingredients. Surely it would cancel out in the end, right? Cause and effect, or some shit like that? She figured adding in some eggs and sugar and stirring until her damn arm fell off was far more simple than trying to wrangle a bull or tame a wild mustang. And yet, both were looking mighty enticing compared to the catastrophe that was staring at her from the mixing bowl.
Though, the next words that fell from Colt’s lips were surely more terrifying.
Her mother. Not coming home. Fucking knitting circle.
Her grip tightened on the countertop, knuckles turning white and all color draining from her face. While her spine was rigid, her mouth fell open as panic began to set in. No, no, no. She needed to make these stupid, stupid cupcakes tonight, for tomorrow would be filled with setting up and trying to sell the damn things. Jo was a rotten baker, but even a worse saleswoman. Maybe it was the resting bitch face. Or maybe it was the fact that a ‘hello’ to her was a cock of her head and a middle finger.
Either way, she was royally screwed.
Whipping her head towards Colt, about to throw a curse and maybe a pitiful cry for help, she paused as he raised a now dry hand. Hearing that her mother’s substitute would be the cowboy himself, her body turned taut once more, already preparing for the defense she would have to take up. As he neared her and the bowl, she turned so the small of her back rested against the countertop and threw her head back with another sigh.
“Apparently she knits hats, now. And gloves. And headbands. You’ll probably be getting a sweater for Christmas so you better smile and open it like it’s the best damn thing you ever saw,” Jo drawled, her thick accent creeping in. She stared at the ceiling while Colt inspected the bowl, though she knew exactly what kind of face he was making. She knew the guy too well. There would be a little crinkle of his nose, his lips turning into a frown, maybe even a disappointing click of his tongue, if she was lucky.
After his inspection, he turned to face her, though she refused to meet his gaze. She could change a flat tire, herd cattle, spit at a rattlesnake, and even tackle their wayward goats as they escaped their pens way too often, and yet baking was a feat she could not master.
“Colton Walker if you don’t stop looking at me like that right now I’ll dump that entire bowl over your head.”
He outstretched a hand, giving her an eager wriggle of his fingers for the recipe card as he insulted her precious, hard work. Using her middle finger to scratch her nose, making sure it was in full view of Colt’s gaze, she tossed him the recipe and peered down at the bowl. “You better not be talking about Aunt DeeDee like that – I swear even the Grim Reaper himself is terrified of that woman.”
Aunt DeeDee lived across town in a trailer with a shotgun resting beside her front door. One time a telemarketer stepped up to her home to try and sell window panes or some stupid shit like that.
Somehow the cops were called.
Aunt DeeDee had always been Jo’s favorite. She would have whacked Colt in the back of the head if she heard him insulting her niece’s cooking.
“If that’s the case,” Jo started, grabbing the spatula and bringing it towards Colt’s face, “open up, Walker.” Seeing the putrid expression riddle his features made dealing with his insults worth it, for a sinister smile spread across her mouth. Unfortunately, he snatched the utensil out of her hand, as well as the bowl, and replaced them with clean, fresh ones. Ah, so they were really doing this.
Deciding to face the storm and try and get the job done as quickly as possible, Jo grumbled some off-hand expletives while grabbing the ingredients once more. Flour, baking powder, baking soda (apparently that’s different than the powder), sugar, salt, eggs, and a whole plethora of other ingredients she had skipped over the first time. Apparently, she was supposed to mix the wet ingredients and dry ingredients separately. For what purpose? She had no clue, but Colt insisted. In fact, he had taken over for the majority of the process, only allowing her near the whisk to mix because she “couldn’t possibly mess that up.”
Well, he severely underestimated her absolutely horrific kitchen skills.
It happened a little too fast for her to fully know what went wrong. All she knew was that at one moment, she had an arm wrapped around the bowl, hugging it close to her side, and whisked the wet ingredients as her life depended on it. And then the next…
Colton was wearing Aunt DeeDee’s famous chocolate cupcakes.
The batter was splattered across his face in small, tiny dots, but most of it ended up across his chest. Either he bumped her or she bumped him, but one way or another, the bowl tipped against his sturdy frame before clattering to the floor.
Jo stood there, blinked, and stared wide-eyed at an entirely too-still Colton. Neither of them moved, the kitchen was quiet except for the batter that dripped from his chest and onto the wood floor. Even the chickens had gone silent outside.
She figured she would end up on the Devil’s Shit List for this, but Joanna Emerson was never known for her sense of self control.
Jo’s eyes narrowed as she cut a ruthless glare to Colt (as he had the audacity to fault her appearance), one that was more out of habit than anything. Even though being back home had been nothing but a whirlwind – trying to find her place back in a town that had seemed to fill the spot she had left wasn’t easy. Even with nights out at Joe’s, the dingy bar in town, or when she went to the market to grab groceries, the locals talked to her as if they were struggling to keep afloat. Sure, the first few meetings were wholesome and filled with the same questions that tumbled out of their mouth too quickly, at times.
“How have you been?”
“Found a man, yet?”
“Still gonna be helping out your parents?”
“Have you heard how Grace is doing?”
This town, this land, had built her into the woman she was. Gruff, a little temperamental, and too prickly to let anyone past the front door. And yet, she still felt the outcast. The only ones who had seen the girl’s true colors weren’t exactly a fan. Her sister. The ex-boyfriends that turned and tucked tail after a month at the max.
Colt.
While relearning how to mold herself back into home, falling into old habits with Colt had been fairly easy. Too easy. Surprisingly, it was the most comforting thing about home, at the moment. While everyone else had moved on while her life was put on pause, it was refreshing to know that even jackass Colton Walker could still make her blood boil.
As he washed his hands fiercely in the kitchen sink, Joanna toyed with her bottom lip, pulling it into her teeth. She followed the recipe… Or as close as she could. Somewhat. Partially.
Okay, maybe she skipped a few steps and exchanged some measurements between ingredients. Surely it would cancel out in the end, right? Cause and effect, or some shit like that? She figured adding in some eggs and sugar and stirring until her damn arm fell off was far more simple than trying to wrangle a bull or tame a wild mustang. And yet, both were looking mighty enticing compared to the catastrophe that was staring at her from the mixing bowl.
Though, the next words that fell from Colt’s lips were surely more terrifying.
Her mother. Not coming home. Fucking knitting circle.
Her grip tightened on the countertop, knuckles turning white and all color draining from her face. While her spine was rigid, her mouth fell open as panic began to set in. No, no, no. She needed to make these stupid, stupid cupcakes tonight, for tomorrow would be filled with setting up and trying to sell the damn things. Jo was a rotten baker, but even a worse saleswoman. Maybe it was the resting bitch face. Or maybe it was the fact that a ‘hello’ to her was a cock of her head and a middle finger.
Either way, she was royally screwed.
Whipping her head towards Colt, about to throw a curse and maybe a pitiful cry for help, she paused as he raised a now dry hand. Hearing that her mother’s substitute would be the cowboy himself, her body turned taut once more, already preparing for the defense she would have to take up. As he neared her and the bowl, she turned so the small of her back rested against the countertop and threw her head back with another sigh.
“Apparently she knits hats, now. And gloves. And headbands. You’ll probably be getting a sweater for Christmas so you better smile and open it like it’s the best damn thing you ever saw,” Jo drawled, her thick accent creeping in. She stared at the ceiling while Colt inspected the bowl, though she knew exactly what kind of face he was making. She knew the guy too well. There would be a little crinkle of his nose, his lips turning into a frown, maybe even a disappointing click of his tongue, if she was lucky.
After his inspection, he turned to face her, though she refused to meet his gaze. She could change a flat tire, herd cattle, spit at a rattlesnake, and even tackle their wayward goats as they escaped their pens way too often, and yet baking was a feat she could not master.
“Colton Walker if you don’t stop looking at me like that right now I’ll dump that entire bowl over your head.”
He outstretched a hand, giving her an eager wriggle of his fingers for the recipe card as he insulted her precious, hard work. Using her middle finger to scratch her nose, making sure it was in full view of Colt’s gaze, she tossed him the recipe and peered down at the bowl. “You better not be talking about Aunt DeeDee like that – I swear even the Grim Reaper himself is terrified of that woman.”
Aunt DeeDee lived across town in a trailer with a shotgun resting beside her front door. One time a telemarketer stepped up to her home to try and sell window panes or some stupid shit like that.
Somehow the cops were called.
Aunt DeeDee had always been Jo’s favorite. She would have whacked Colt in the back of the head if she heard him insulting her niece’s cooking.
“If that’s the case,” Jo started, grabbing the spatula and bringing it towards Colt’s face, “open up, Walker.” Seeing the putrid expression riddle his features made dealing with his insults worth it, for a sinister smile spread across her mouth. Unfortunately, he snatched the utensil out of her hand, as well as the bowl, and replaced them with clean, fresh ones. Ah, so they were really doing this.
Deciding to face the storm and try and get the job done as quickly as possible, Jo grumbled some off-hand expletives while grabbing the ingredients once more. Flour, baking powder, baking soda (apparently that’s different than the powder), sugar, salt, eggs, and a whole plethora of other ingredients she had skipped over the first time. Apparently, she was supposed to mix the wet ingredients and dry ingredients separately. For what purpose? She had no clue, but Colt insisted. In fact, he had taken over for the majority of the process, only allowing her near the whisk to mix because she “couldn’t possibly mess that up.”
Well, he severely underestimated her absolutely horrific kitchen skills.
It happened a little too fast for her to fully know what went wrong. All she knew was that at one moment, she had an arm wrapped around the bowl, hugging it close to her side, and whisked the wet ingredients as her life depended on it. And then the next…
Colton was wearing Aunt DeeDee’s famous chocolate cupcakes.
The batter was splattered across his face in small, tiny dots, but most of it ended up across his chest. Either he bumped her or she bumped him, but one way or another, the bowl tipped against his sturdy frame before clattering to the floor.
Jo stood there, blinked, and stared wide-eyed at an entirely too-still Colton. Neither of them moved, the kitchen was quiet except for the batter that dripped from his chest and onto the wood floor. Even the chickens had gone silent outside.
She figured she would end up on the Devil’s Shit List for this, but Joanna Emerson was never known for her sense of self control.
“Definitely not edible.”