Addison huffs when I enter the kitchen, not bothering to hide her annoyance. The fact that I’m not an employee and am only here as a favor doesn’t seem to matter.

I can’t figure her out. She seems like she could be really cool. Or maybe was really cool, in another life. But she’s guarded, always a little on edge, moves through the day like she’s not sure how she found herself here.

Considering that’s pretty much how I live my life, I should probably be able to understand her better.

She snaps some instructions at me, and I only cut her slack because I know she’s under a lot of stress with this corporate thing coming up. I’d be stressed too if I had to cater to a huge group of corporate tools. I worked a corporate job—I know how those people can be.

But when she asks me to crush the strawberries so she can make a batch of muffins large enough for the retreat in a couple days, I can’t help but reiterate my cherry-apricot suggestion that she ignored the first time.

“You remember I’m the head chef, right?” she says, ponytail swinging lightly as she turns to glare at me. “I think I know what I’m doing.”

“Not saying you don’t,” I tell her. And then—although I don’t know what makes me do it—I brag, “But Brenden liked my muffin better.”

The way I metaphorically puff up my chest is immature, and really, why do I even care? This is her kitchen and her event to plan for. I have no real stake here. Except, secretly, I can’t help but be proud about Brenden’s intense praise for my baking skills.

And I can’t help remembering the obscene noise he made. If I can get him to sound like that just with food, I wonder what noises I could have him making in another context...

Nope. I abruptly cut off that train of thought before it can get rolling.

“No way am I just going to take your word for it,” Addison says.

What are we talking about?

Muffins. Right.

I’m about to drop it and let her go on thinking her unoriginal muffin choice is superior, but then Brenden chooses that moment to come strolling into the kitchen, looking much peppier than he did earlier. He heads right for the coffee machine and starts to pour himself a cup. Mid-pour, he glances up, notices me and Addison both staring at him, and freezes.

“Uh...” He shoots us a concerned look.

And since I’ve apparently turned into a gorilla, I literally puff up my chest this time as I say, “She doesn’t believe you liked my muffin better. Will you tell her?”

“Oh, well, I...” His panicked eyes dart between me and Addison.