Finding Joy (The Joy Series) (Volume 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

because I didn’t have any. Until Adam had moved in, the room’s sole purpose had been reheating takeout and storing my bounty of beverages.
    “What’s all this?” he asked, referring to the sheets of paper scattered across the countertop.
    “Recipes. I found them online. There’s this thing called Pinterest where people post pictures of food they want to eat and shit they want to buy. It’s crazy town.”
    “You did your due diligence,” he said, as he wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. He licked a smear of cookie-something off my neck. “Did your research tell you that you’re supposed to add the wet stuff before you turn on the mixer?”
    “I dunno.” I said in defeat.
    “Yeah, well, if you really want to know, you should mix the dry ingredients in one bowl and use the mixer for the wet stuff in another. Mix the wet stuff ‘til it’s fluffy. Then you can add the dry stuff. It helps keep the ingredients from flying around the room.”
    My jaw dropped, and I just stared at him.
    “Yeah, and you don’t need … pinter shit … or whatever you called it. The best recipe for chocolate chip cookies is right there on that yellow bag. You can add more chocolate chips, but otherwise the recipe, right here, is the money,” he said, tapping on the bag of chocolate chips.
     “And what makes you an expert on chocolate chip cookies?” I wrapped his arms back around my waist and rubbed my hands over his.
    “Every man loves chocolate chip cookies. When they come out of the oven, there is nothing better.” He squeezed me a little tighter before adding in a slightly quieter tone, “And I’ve made my fair share of them. Joy loved cookies. Don’t tell Burke, but … I used to be quite the cookie maker.”
    I turned to face him and placed the palm of my hand over his heart in acknowledgement of the reference to his little sister. Though his shirt made the tattoo invisible, I would never forget that it was there. It was a perpetual reminder of what I’d taken from him. Just as the similar marking on my wrist was. I took a deep breath as I tried to find the right words, knowing full well that any words would be grossly inadequate.
    “I know,” he said, lifting my hand off his chest and kissing the tattoo on my wrist. “Let it go. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
    I turned back to the bowl of failure and sighed. “You want to make these? I thought this would be easy, but I’m miserable at it.”
    “Nah. I stink,” he said, pulling away and backing toward the doorway.
    “I thought you were a hotshot baker … a cookie master,” I teased.
    “No, I mean, I actually stink. I went for a run and was getting in the shower when I thought I heard a robber and came to investigate.”
    “And you were going to … what? Umbrella him to death?”
    “I was going to use my manly man-skills and this umbrella to take him down.”
    “Your manly man-skills?” I said giggling. “You can still use your manly man-skills to take me down … after you shower, of course.”
    “I think I just might. But first I’m going to shower and make dinner … if I can find the kitchen.” He looked at the disaster surrounding us.
    “I’ll clean it up,” I said in a defeated tone.
    “No way. I’ve got cookies on my manly man-brain now. When I get out of the shower, I want a cookie and a glass of milk. So get on it, Paula Deen, and kick some cookie ass.”
    I studied the recipe on the bag of chips and muttered, “Don’t you dare Paula Deen me. I have nothing in common with Paula Deen. I want to be that Italian chick on the Food Network.”
    “Heck, yeah,” he called out from somewhere down the hall. “Giada. She’s a bombshell.”
     
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    I sat down on the couch with my wine in one hand and my phone in the other. I was full of cookies, baked salmon, and some of the best homemade mac n’ cheese I’d ever had. Having changed into a tank top and pink flannel pajama