But now that he was finished with cleanup, he found himself edgy and restless. So he did what he always did when he was stressed. He went into the kitchen and started hunting for ingredients. He didn’t know what he was going to make until he found a half-eaten jar of morello cherry jam in the back of the fridge.

He already knew there was dark chocolate in the pantry along with all the other staple supplies. But when he found an unopened pack of pecans back there, he thanked Jacqueline’s chef all over again. The man had great taste.

He got to adding together the ingredients, but halfway through, he went and knocked on Catie’s door. “Are you alive?” It was the kind of question she might actually answer.

“I’m fine,” came the curt response.

He caught the tone in her voice though. Shit. She was crying. He’d never actually seen Catie cry—she didn’t do it in front of anyone. Or maybe she did it in front of Ísa, but she’d certainly never done it in front of him. He hated the idea of her crying alone in her room, but he also knew he wouldn’t be welcome right now, so he forced himself to go back to his baking.

He still wasn’t calm by the time he slid his first concoction into the oven, so he started on another mix. They already had leftovers from his previous efforts, but he’d go mad if he had to sit still. Most of it would freeze fine, he told himself, and Catie could thaw it out the next time she came down. They could also take a bunch of stuff back home to Auckland.

His phone, which he’d brought into the room with the idea of listening to one of his playlists and promptly forgotten about, began buzzing fifteen minutes into his second mix. Not in the mood to deal with even a text from a friend, he ignored it. But the messages kept coming.

Growling under his breath, he finished scooping out the last of the cupcake batter into one of the muffin pans he’d prepared, then went over and grabbed the phone. To find a long list of messages from Catie.

I can smell something.

What is it?

Don’t you dare make cookies and not give me some.

HELLO!!

I’m wounded here and you’re stuffing your face.

ANSWER YOUR DAMN MESSAGES, HOTSHOT.

That’s it, I’m not forgetting this.

Revenge will be mine.

Grinning by the end of the string, Danny shot back: Hold your horses. They’re not done yet.

Silence.