That didn’t sound convincing either.
As the cookies emerged from the oven, Hope and Samuel fled into the kitchen. Their eager faces still dirty after poor attempts at cleaning them, their hands dripping with water.
While Melanie poured milk for the kids, the screen door slammed shut again. “Someone other than Miss Gina is cooking.”
Mel’s heart did a quick jump in her chest before Wyatt rounded the corner. The easy smile on his lips had her biting hers. He wore the blue jeans she was used to seeing on his narrow waist. He had on a pullover shirt and a tool belt loose over his hips.
“Aunt Zoe made cookies,” Hope announced, her lips smacking over the cinnamon snickerdoodles.
“Are they any good?” Wyatt asked with a wink.
Zoe scoffed and pretended offense.
When Wyatt reached for one, Melanie opened her mouth and her mother’s voice came out. “Wash your hands.”
Wyatt snapped his hand back and grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her cheeks heated. “Sorry. Habit.”
Wyatt sauntered out of the kitchen and he could hear the sound of running water from the downstairs bathroom.
Melanie turned away from the kids and found Zoe watching her. “What?”
“He’s cute,” she said under her breath.
“Stop.”
“Why?”
Footsteps stopped their conversation and Melanie pushed Zoe away.
“Mmm. Luke said you were a good cook,” Wyatt said.
“He did, did he?”
“Zoe can turn macaroni and cheese into a delicacy fit for kings,” Melanie praised her friend.
“I don’t know about that.”
“A direct quote from one of the judges of Warring Chefs.”
“A quote used once they found out I grew up in a double-wide. It was a joke.”
“It’s the truth.” Melanie turned back to Wyatt, his face full of another cookie. “She won her first Fourth of July chili cook-off when we were twelve. In high school, when we needed a new pole vault pit for the track team, Zoe cooked a three-course meal and sold tickets as a fundraiser. Once word got out about her culinary talents, people started driving in from forty miles away and paid forty bucks a plate.”
“That’s impressive,” Wyatt said. “You should stick around. We could use another pole vault pit.”
“We?” Melanie asked.
“I help coach at the high school,” he said.
“Really? Zoe, Jo, and I were all on the track team.”
Wyatt wiped cookie crumbs off his chin. Out of habit, Melanie handed him a napkin.
“I think I remember Jo mentioning that.”
“Yeah, Jo was a sprinter, Zoe here did the mile, and I was the vaulter.”
“Hence the pole vault pit,” Zoe added.
Hope and Samuel scrambled off the kitchen stools. “We’re going back outside.”
“Go on.”
“I keep trying to get our sheriff to coach. Lord knows she keeps bringing me kids.”
Zoe and Melanie started to laugh.
“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” Zoe said.
“What do you mean?”
“Sheriff Ward, her dad . . . he did that all the time. Someone got caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing . . . he gave them an option. Join track or handcuffs.”
Wyatt glanced between the two of them. “And what did you two get caught doing?”
Melanie and Zoe exchanged glances.
“It wasn’t us. We were there supporting our friend,” Zoe offered.
It took a few seconds for Wyatt to catch on. “Jo?”
Melanie snapped her lips together. “I’ll never tell.”
Zoe lifted her little finger in the air, and Mel took hold with hers. The not-so-secret handshake of sorts still held.
“It’s a daily education with you in town,” he said.
Zoe pushed away from the counter and opened the fridge. “You kids get out of here. I have stuff to do.”
“Stuff?” Melanie asked.
“Yeah . . . I need to remind Miss Gina how this is done.” Zoe waved them away. “When is she coming back?”
“Dinner. She suggested I invite you over.”
Zoe snorted. “I bet. Sneaky bitch.”
When Zoe started muttering and filling her arms with onions, tomatoes, and some kind of cheese, Mel backed away. “I need my knives.” Zoe dumped the ingredients on the counter and disappeared out the front door.
Wyatt started to say something but the words didn’t articulate before Zoe marched back inside, a black bag in her hands. “What are you two still doing in here? I’d put you to work, but I don’t need a hammer for dinner . . . and Melanie, bless her, is useless.”
“Hey, I manage.”
Zoe snorted before turning away. “And take those cookies to the parlor. I’m sure Miss Gina already has a plate ready.” Another muttered sneaky bitch left Zoe’s lips as Melanie and Wyatt left the room.
The noise generated by Hurricane Zoe drifted the farther they moved away from the kitchen.
“Is she always like that?” Wyatt asked.
“Only when she cooks,” Mel told him.