Chapter Seven

August stepped up to the front door of his apartment, mentally exhausted after another day of dodging his grandmother’s not-so-subtle attempts to convince him to take over the flower shop. The old woman was relentless. She mentioned no less than five urban farms within a five-mile radius. Like the thought of people growing things within city limits would change his mind or something.

He knew people could grow things in urban areas; he just didn’t know why they would want to. Why stay in a crowded, polluted hub when you could have your own little plot of land out in the countryside? Fresh air, lots of sunshine, no frustrating roommates trying to shove you into a crowd of people and calling it a good time.

Maybe it was the introvert in him, but being around too many people gave him anxiety. Perhaps he could live just outside the city limits, but after growing up in a crowded, bustling city, August knew what he wanted, and more of his childhood wasn’t it.

He woke up this morning feeling slightly bad for the way he handled last night. No, he hadn’t enjoyed himself. Every moment from the time they left the apartment to the time he slipped into his bed had been torture. Loud and busy. Grating on his very last nerve. But he also knew Mo had just been trying to be friendly. The woman was a walking cloud of energy and rainbows. She was nice, but she was also a bit…much.

So, yeah, he could have handled last night better. Probably shouldn’t have gotten in her face like that. It was rude and put him in far too close a proximity to the woman. A big problem, because as much as she annoyed him with her “life is wonderful” attitude, there was something about Moira Rossi that intrigued him. Tempted him. Something he was sure as hell going to ignore for the next six months. And to do that, he had to keep his distance.

Kind of hard to do while he lived with her, but September was almost here so the fall wedding season would be in full swing soon. Ought to keep her busy and out of his hair. Plus, he intended to spend a lot more time at the shop with Gran. Not only did she need the help, but he wanted the time to point out why selling and coming to live by him would be a great idea. He’d get through to her eventually.

A small chuckle stuck in his throat as he realized that was the exact thing Gran was trying to do to him. The very thing he’d been complaining to himself about just moments earlier. Guess the apple didn’t fall too far from the grandtree.

August pulled out his keys, fitting the tiny piece of metal into the lock as a loud crash and a muffled scream came from the other side of the door. He turned the lock, throwing the door open as his heart leaped into his chest. A dozen scenarios entered his mind: Mo caught a robbery in action, a serial killer was attacking her, the pile of crap he’d seen her shove in the hall closet the other day came crashing down on her and cracked her head open.

But when he flew into the apartment, gazing frantically around, fists at the ready to defend his roommate against any criminal who might have forced their way into their home, he was greeted by something far more shocking.

“Oh…hey.” Mo gave a little wave of her gooey-covered fingers.

He blinked, taking in the scene before him, not quite sure of what he was seeing. Mo stood in the kitchen. Scratch that, she stood in a disaster zone that used to be the kitchen.

Dirty bowls, spoons, and measuring cups were stacked in a precarious tower in the sink, threatening to fall over at any minute. Some kind of fine white powder covered every available surface, including most of Mo’s face and hands. Three cooling racks were shoved haphazardly on the table, two of them filled with what appeared to be cookies of some kind. And there, in the middle of the mess, stood his tiny whirlwind of a roommate, hands clenched in front of her, pink-streaked hair a frizzy mess, a baking tray at her feet, cookies scattered around her, and a sheepish smile on her face.

“I didn’t expect you home so early.”

He was still processing the scene before him as he answered, “Traffic was light.”

“Oh, um, that’s good. No sports games this weekend, so that’s probably why.”

He nodded absently. “What’s all this?”

“Ah, apology cookies?” She glanced down to the floor. “Well not these ones, obviously. But the ones on the table are delicious. I promise.”

“I’m not a big sweets guy,” he said, his mind still distracted, calculating the amount of time and disinfectant it was going to take to clean this mess.

“They’re snickerdoodles.”

That got his attention. August glanced at the table again, taking in the golden brown cookies sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon and taking a deep breath for the first time since he entered the apartment. The sweet spiciness of his favorite childhood treat threw everything else from his mind: the mess, Mo, the issue with Gran. Everything. For just a moment, he was a ten-year-old kid again. Sitting at his grandmother’s kitchen table, enjoying the special treat she made just for him on his visits between being foisted off on his mom’s new family and his dad’s.

“Agatha said they were your favorite.”

He turned his head, focusing on Mo. “You asked my grandmother what my favorite cookie was?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I asked her what your favorite treat was, and she told me you’ve always loved her snickerdoodle cookies, so she gave me the recipe.”

“This is Gran’s recipe?”

Mo nodded, rolling her lips. “Yup. They probably don’t taste as good as Agatha’s, I’m not the best cook in the world, but I’m pretty okay at baking.”

He took a few steps to the table, grabbing one of the delicious-smelling cookies and lifting it to his lips. His eyes closed as the aroma of freshly baked heaven surrounded him. They sure smelled like Gran’s. He parted his lips, placing the warm, soft cookie between his teeth and biting down. The moment the sweet sugar and cinnamon hit his tongue, his taste buds exploded in delight. Time seemed to slow down as the cookie melted in his mouth, the creamy taste of butter following the sweet and spicy covering he knew the dough had been rolled in before baking.

“Oh. My. God,” he moaned, quickly grabbing another cookie and shoving it in his mouth. Healthy eating be damned. He could afford a cheat cookie or two. Or twenty.

“Good?” Mo’s eyes lit with hopeful eagerness.

“Amazing,” he answered after swallowing another mouthful. “These are exactly like Gran’s. Maybe even better.”

Her face brightened. “Really?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell her I said that.”

“Oh, August.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “You realize you just gave me blackmail for later when I want something from you.”

He groaned, but truthfully, these cookies were worth whatever outlandish adventure Mo planned to drag him on next. In fact, he— Wait a minute. He paused in his scarfing of the delicious treat. Brain clicking back to what he heard before he rushed in here and what he saw now. Mo was still standing by the stove with a tray and pile of broken cookies at her feet. She still had her hands clasped together, too. No. They weren’t clasped. One was clutching the other as if she… Shit. He was a self-absorbed ass. He’d been so distracted by the delicious cookies, he hadn’t noticed that Mo hurt herself.

“You okay?” He nudged his chin in the direction of her hands.

Mo immediately dropped her joined hands, hiding them behind her back. “What? Oh yes, never better.”

He glanced skeptically to the floor and back up to her. “Moira.”

“Okay, fine,” she huffed, bringing her hand back out in front of her and lifting her left palm. “I might have accidently grabbed the spatula to transfer the cookies from the hot baking sheet to the cooling rack with my oven mitt–covered hand and the hot baking tray with my uncovered hand and gotten a small burn, which caused me to drop the tray and scream because, duh, getting burned hurts, and I was going to clean it all up, but then you walked in and—”

“You’re rambling,” he pointed out.

She lifted her chin. “Rambling is just explaining in long story form.”

He shook his head with a small laugh. This woman sure was something else. “Come here,” he said, motioning to her. “Let me see it.”

“Oh, did you abandon your pretty flowers and go to medical school since last night?”

“Moira.”

“Ugh, fine.” She stomped over to his side, holding her hand out, palm up. “I was just about to put some ointment on it.”

He put down the cookie in his hand. Though he really wanted to shove another in his mouth, she needed his help, and he needed to pace himself. Gently, he cupped her small hand in his larger palms. Ouch. The entire surface was red from the base of her fingers all the way to the meaty bit right above her delicate wrist. Luckily, he didn’t see any blistering. August might not have any medical training, but he’d gotten his fair share of cooking burns over the years helping Gran make cookies.

“Do you have any aloe vera?”

“Yes?”

He glanced up, feeling a small smile tick up the corner of his lips. “You don’t know if you have aloe vera or not?”

“Lilly used to keep it around. I’m not sure if she left any when she moved out.”

Mo might be bubbly and great at baking snickerdoodles, but he was coming to find she wasn’t the best at planning. Or cleaning.

“All right.” He pulled out one of the table chairs and guided her into it, placing her palm faceup on the table. “You just sit right here, and I’ll go see what I can find.”

“Yes, doctor.” She nodded grimly.

He shook his head, finding her odd sense of humor slightly adorable. Heading to the front bathroom, the one Mo used, he searched the medicine cabinet and under the sink, rifling through various face toners and cleaners, painkillers, feminine hygiene products, and a ridiculous amount of hair dye in every color of the rainbow until he finally found a small, half empty bottle of aloe vera. After checking the expiration date to make sure it was still usable, he headed back to the kitchen and Mo.

“Oh good, you found some.” She smiled. “It’s really starting to hurt. I was about to dunk my hand in some ice water.”

“Do not do that.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “Ever.”

Terrible idea. Ice might seem like a good idea, but he knew it only damaged the tissue further. “May I?”

He held out the bottle. Mo nodded. He opened the cap, squirting a bit of the slimy goo onto the tips of his fingers. Placing the bottle on the table, he gently grasped her hand in his and used the other to spread the aloe all over her palm, getting every inch of red he saw. A long, low moan escaped her lips, and August had to shift in his seat as the sound caused his jeans to tighten.

Jackass. Here she was enjoying the relief from pain and he was conjuring up dirty images of her in his mind. All because of a little moan. This was not good.

“Feel better?” he asked to distract himself from his very inappropriate thoughts.

“Yes, a million times better. How did you know to do that?”

“Gran,” he answered, continuing to rub the aloe into her skin with gentle circular movements. “She taught me everything I know about flowers and plants. Including how aloe is good for burns.”

“Agatha is a peach. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Mo’s lips curled up in a soft smile. “You know she and my nonna were best friends.”

He squirted a bit more gel on her hand, rubbing between her fingers, making sure to get every area the hot pan had touched. “No. I didn’t. She mentioned something about knowing your grandmother, but it’s…been a while since I’ve come to visit.”

One pale blonde eyebrow rose. “Nonna and Agatha met at Stitch and Bitch and—”

“What is stitch and bitch?” He looked up in horror. He’d never heard his grandmother swear in her life. She washed his mouth out with soap if he even said damn as a kid.

“It’s a kind of knitting and crochet group where a bunch of people get together to work on projects and gossip.”

Gossip had never been his thing, or large groups of people for that matter, but he could see his grandmother enjoying something like that.

“It’s a blast! I went once, but I’m crap with yarn. I tried to make a scarf, and it ended up looking like a…I think Nonna called it a blanket not even a feral cat would use.”

“Harsh.”

Mo laughed. “Yeah, Nonna was a hoot.” Her smile slipped, sadness entering her eyes. “I miss her.”

“When did she pass?” Because from the way she was talking, he knew it wasn’t a distance kind of longing.

“A few years ago, but some days it seems like yesterday.”

He got that. Though he knew it would happen one day, he’d be lost without Gran. He was thankful every day she was still kicking. And she would be for many years to come if she’d just agree to sell the shop and let him take care of her.

“Um, August?”

“Yeah?”

“I think the aloe’s all rubbed in now.”

He glanced down to see himself holding Mo’s hand, no longer applying a medicinal salve but caressing her wrist with the pad of his thumb, rubbing back and forth the way one might do to comfort a lover. Embarrassed and horrified, he quickly snatched his hand back.

“Yeah, um.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I hope that made it feel better.”

“It did, thank you,” Mo said, her lips pressing together, a gleeful mirth filling her face.

At least one of them could find humor in their odd situation. August went back and forth between uncomfortable tension and reluctant acceptance on a daily basis.

Trying to diffuse the unintentional physical familiarity, he grabbed another cookie. “These really are amazing, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She winced slightly, nose wrinkling as she admitted, “And as I said, they’re apology cookies. I’m sorry I forced you out last night. Clearly my Mo-dar needs a little tweaking, so if you’re up for it, I’d like to take you out again and show you a part of the city I feel pretty sure you’re going to love.”

He grunted, finishing the cookie he shoved in his mouth and grabbing for another. Perfect, and now the thought of another Mo’s night on the town had him stress eating. “I doubt that’s possible.”

Mo grabbed the rack of cookies before August could snatch one.

“Hey.”

“No going out, no cookies.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought you said they were apology cookies?”

“They are.” Mo lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “They’re also bribery cookies.”

Was she serious? He really didn’t want to go out again, but he also really wanted another cookie.

Knowing she wasn’t the type of person to take no for an answer—considering he tried that last night and look where it had gotten him—he pointed a finger. “No greasy food, no noisy bars, and no trying to hook me up with anyone.”

“Cross my heart.” She grinned, making a crossing motion with her finger over her heart. “We don’t have to eat out. It’s an outdoor venue that I think will be right up your alley. And trust me, no one there is looking to get laid.”

Now he was slightly intrigued. Slightly.

“Where are we going?”

“Naw uh.” She waved a finger at him. “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“I love them.”

Of course she did.

“Now, here are your cookies. You go read your boring flower book and enjoy them while I clean up this mess.”

He would argue with her on the boring book thing, but her suggestion sounded pretty nice. Still, “You want help cleaning up?”

“No, thanks, I got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, August.” Her head tilted as she stared at him. “What are you afraid of? That I’m going to shove all the dishes in the dishwasher whether they’re dishwasher safe or not?”

Yes. That’s exactly what he was afraid of. They weren’t his dishes, but he hated to see any kitchen equipment ruined due to poor cleaning skills.

“Believe it or not, I have been cleaning this apartment for years before you came along.”

“I don’t,” he mumbled. Not judging by the state of this place the day he’d arrived.

Mo smacked him lightly on the shoulder with her good hand. “You. Eat. I will clean, and I promise this place will be so spotless when I’m done, you could eat off the floor.”

That was a bet he would never be taking, but then again, he also never would have bet on becoming friends with his whimsical roommate, and after tonight, it looked like that just might become a real possibility.