Page 20 of The Roommate Problem
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.”
