Callie Reeves is a perfectionist. She has control over everything from her friends to her grades, the cheerleading squad she captains and anyone inbetween - even when it comes to dating.
After creating a list of rules to keep her no-strings attache...
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"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Phoebe asks, looking at the spread over the kitchen counter.
"Unlike the rest of the girls I don't want to buy store-bought baked goods," I explain, not bothering to look up from my calculations. "Plus that gives us the right to act superior to those who don't."
"Even if it tastes bad?"
I look up after scribbling the last part of the measurements down. "I'm a perfectionist - if they taste bad I'll be making several batches until they taste good. You don't have to worry about anything as long as you get the amounts precise."
"Fine by me."
"Great," I tear off the last handwritten recipe and gather the others. On my way to the fridge I check the time on the clock. "They have a minute to get here."
"You expect two guys to turn up on time?" The doorbell rings twice and she slides off the stool. "Do you want me to get that?"
Nodding I use magnets to put the recipes up. Phoebe's sandals clap against the marble as she answers the door for me. I exhale slowly to remain calm and examine the kitchen ready for cooking.
So brownies, chocolate chip cookies, jam drops, and caramel slice. All simple things that can't be easily screwed up. I distributed recipes to the others so each one is to make two batches.
Although I'm half expecting them to just buy store made stuff as opposed to making them from scratch. I move back to start making the cookie dough and measuring the quantities for it. That's when they enter the kitchen.
"And this is where we'll be making the baked goods - I was just showing them the layout of your gorgeous house."
Phoebe's jaw dropped when I showed her around downstairs. In her words "aesthetically pleasing" describes my house. Whereas I just tried to pick furniture and art pieces that made the marble and white walls appear warmer - less like a clinic.
"Yeah you have a nice place," Sam speaks and moves to stand at the end of the island. His friend, Eden - as I learned the name of the tool - moves to lean beside me. "I'm surprised your dad let you use it for something like this."
Phoebe looks between us. "How did you know only her dad lives here?"
"Because people gossip. It's not exactly a secret my parents are divorced," I state unamused, frowning when I spill some flour on the counter. "So don't be surprised when your dirty laundry is aired for everyone to see."
"Cause that's not depressing as hell." Eden chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.
"Well I figured a warning would be important," I redirect my attention back to Phoebe. "I'd stay tight-lipped around the juniors on the squad or anyone wearing red-soled heels - they're equivalent to vultures."
