Free Doing It Over (A Most Likely to Novel Book 1) by Catherine Bybee Page A

Gina buy this and not use it?”
    The questions kept coming, but Melanie didn’t bother answering. This was how Zoe cooked. Hands flying, fingers tasting . . . nose sniffing. She found an apron, took a swig of lemonade, and in the time it would have taken Melanie to turn on the stove and pop off the lid of the fake cookie dough, Zoe had flour, salt, sugar, and several other bits of flavor mixed and on cookie sheets.
    While the cookies slid into the oven, Zoe knelt beside a deep lower cabinet and dug. She unearthed a coffee bean grinder, dusted it off, and plugged it in. “She better have . . .” From the pantry, a sealed bag of coffee beans emerged. “I don’t get why she isn’t using this.”
    Zoe continued talking to herself as the kitchen filled with the smell of fresh coffee and mouthwatering sweetness.
    The screen door slammed with the sound of small feet running toward them. “Stop right there young lady. Shoes off. You and Samuel wash your hands before you come in here.”
    The kids turned toward the washroom without argument.
    Zoe stopped her muttering and chuckled. “Ohhh, the Mom voice. You do that really well.”
    “It’s in the guide that comes from the hospital. Mom voice and Mom look are in the second chapter.”
    “What’s in the first?”
    “ Mom worry and Mom smothering .”
    Zoe leaned against the counter while the cookies finished baking. “It’s been hard, hasn’t it?”
    “Yeah. You’re smart to wait. Not that I planned it.”
    “The good things in life are never planned,” Zoe said. “I didn’t plan on being a chef. It just happened.”
    “It didn’t just happen. You made it happen. You left this town before I did with half a scholarship and a beat-up pickup truck.”
    Zoe waved her off. “Still didn’t plan it. Not all of it.”
    “Would you do any of it differently?” Melanie asked.
    Her friend stared at the wall. “Well . . . no. I guess not.”
    That didn’t sound convincing.
    “Are you happy?”
    Zoe tore her gaze away, turned toward the stove. “Yeah . . . yeah, I am.”
    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