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It’s a valid requirement and a legitimate business expense for her.

Bellamy

If you could see me now, my head is in my hands and I’m groaning. My seatmate probably thinks it’s because I’m afraid of flying.

Bellamy

Can you apologize? Tell her you changed your mind?

Archer

I’m not sorry. And I haven’t changed my mind.

This isn’tentirelytrue. But I want it to be true. And I need Bellamy to believe it to be true so he’ll stop pushing this.

Whatistrue is that the commercial kitchen should be rented. Her business model should have renting a kitchen built in as an expense.

Assuming Willahasa business model.

Bellamy

Then I wish you good luck. Going into airplane mode now. I’ll talk to you before the meetings next week. Enjoy the cookies. They’ll probably be your last now.

Bellamy

And if you’ve made it so she now refuses to make cookies for me, I’ll never forgive you.

My eyes drop to the box of cookies. When I lift the lid, the now-familiar scent of almond and vanilla fills my nose. Somehow, the smell of Willa’s cookies makes my guilt more potent. I try to shove it down, but it won’t quite dissipate.

Though the cookies Willa was decorating in the kitchen the other morning had elaborate detail, Bellamy requests simple iced cookies. But I bet he insists on paying whatever the more elaborate ones cost.

These are a light pink, the color of the tank top Willa wore tonight. Though I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, given the circumstances, she was wearing pajamas again. Bare feet, short sleep shorts, and a tank top.

Only when she knocked me to the ground and we spent a few long moments lying pressed together was I aware of how much bare skin was on display.

If I’m being completely honest with myself, I think my reaction to Willa in that moment might have fueled my actions. Telling her she needed to rent the kitchen space was a defense mechanism—one I very much regret.

Cookies, I remind myself.Right now, let’s just think about cookies.

Without allowing myself to overthink, I lift a cookie to my mouth and take a bite.

They’re decadently sweet, but somehow not overpowering. The perfect balance between soft and firm, with the icing giving the slightest crunch before melting on my tongue.

One bite and I understand why Bellamy is addicted.

Two bites and I’m wondering if Willa’s lips taste just as sweet.

The thought yanks me out of my cookie-induced stupor. I force myself to push away the box.

But I can’t bring myself to throw it away.

It’s only as I’m falling asleep—still trying to shut off my guilty conscience and banish thoughts of Willa—that I realize when I got back tonight, my apartment door was unlocked.

Chapter Nine

Willa

I’m still fumingmad the next morning, my rage building over time instead of subsiding. It’s less like the embers of a cooling fire and more like the very center of an inferno.