“Not true.”
She tilts her head. “Where’s the lie?”
“It was a small oven fire which I could’ve put out myself if Gladys hadn’t jumped the gun.”
“Are you going to split hairs about an appliance aflame?”
“Listen, I have it all figured out.”
“Catering and passing the desserts off as yours?”
“Mean.” I scowl.
“I’m sorry, babe. You can throw down in the kitchen when it comes to cooking meals, but baking is your kryptonite.” Jordan shrugs.
“I have someone who can fix everything.”
“Jesus?”
“No,” I scoff. “The Cookie King.”
“The who?”
I pull my phone out and cue up Anders’ channel.
“Oh,” she purrs. “I have a cookie he can finesse.” She lets out a low whistle.
“Jordan Russo.” I feign shock.
“What? I’m married and committed, not dead.” The cheese, cracker, and meat spread arrives. We move closer together to watch more of Anders’ videos.
“How is Mr. McSexy going to help you? Because just watching his videos, as entertaining as they may be, isn’t going to get it. Last time you baked alone, you went full-on Drew Barrymore in Firestarter.”
“Dude, I didn’t start a fire with my mind.”
“Tamato, tomato.” She waves me off. “You need direct supervision.”
I clench my jaw. “I?
?m not that bad.”
“Firefighters. Channel Nine news.”
“That’s why I hired him to come to me and teach me in person.” I wouldn’t tell her about the desperate email where I spilled my guts, praying he would let me play the sympathy card. It had smarted my pride to do it. Still, my scheme worked.
“If he can do that, he’ll become a local legend,” Jordan whispers.
“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t learn. I’m pointing out the fact that you have less than a month to prepare. When are you going to find yourself wrist-deep in cookie dough?”
“This week, actually. Tuesday.” And I’m kind of freaking out about it.
“That’s tomorrow,” Jordan says, aghast.
“That is what usually comes after Monday.”
She shoves the plate toward me. “Eat up. We need to go shopping.”