I held the container out toward him again. “Sure.”
He took two more as he seemed to think about it for a second before he went for it. “Do you really make up the recipes on the spot?”
I got that question a lot, and I mean a lot. I had built my viewers up on the idea that I went in mostly blind to each episode, specifically so they could see me fail. I came up with something I wanted to make and tried it with the camera recording the whole time. Some days, they were original recipes. Some days I tried to make healthier versions of fast food and restaurant dishes, with fewer ingredients, and followed my gut. Some days, I made things that weren’t exactly healthy but were homemade. I’d tried just about everything. When Guillermo, my nephew, came to visit, we did kid-friendly cooking episodes, and it worked. Making things without a plan, using less than ten ingredients, and trying to make it as easy as possible was my thing. “If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it,” was my motto most of the time.
“I brainstorm it a lot in my head, but I wing it in the end. Subscribers like it when I bomb something. Those videos usually do the best, especially if I have someone in them with me.”
I didn’t have a whole lot of “guest stars.” Almost all of the people who joined in during my episodes were family members. The small percent who weren’t consisted of other video bloggers who contacted me, and the rest were friends and family who asked. I would have done more people, but the idea of letting total strangers into my apartment kind of went against every lesson I’d learned watching Law and Order. It was another reason why I wanted to eventually rent a studio apartment where I could film separately. That was plan E. A plan for the distant future.
CJ grunted around the tiny scone he’d popped in his mouth. “Those are my favorites.” He eyed me with a grin as he ate another cookie. “Zac doesn’t talk much about anyone other than his mama or his Paw-Paw, but he never said anything about you.”
Of course he hadn’t.
“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know about… it. The other day was the first time I’ve seen him in ten years,” I admitted.
CJ made a thoughtful face but pulled the stool out between the one he’d been planning on sitting in and the one I was standing beside. He gestured to it.
I had to use the supporting bar at the bottom to boost myself into it, facing him. I was going to have to ask Connie if she knew who CJ was and rub it in her face I’d met him, if she did.
“We grew up together. We were from the same town. He’s best friends with my cousin,” I explained so he wouldn’t think I was BIANCA BLACKHAIRGYM HOU on his phone. I would rather not be anything on his phone, which was more than likely the case based on how the last decade had gone. Not that I was upset about it.
And now I wanted to change the subject. “How long have you played here in Houston?” I rarely watched football, and when I did, it was only when Zac played. But I was never going to admit that out loud.
“Since the White Oaks joined the organization. They recruited me.” CJ scratched at the back of his neck, biceps flexing under his T-shirt and everything. “You’re smaller in person than you look.”
I snorted as I set my palm down flat on the white granite shot through with swirls of gray and brown. It was a nice countertop. Durable. If I ever got a studio just for filming, I’d want something like it. The one at my apartment was plain white, but I still loved it. “At the beginning, when I first started posting stuff online, people said I looked like a munchkin. That they could barely see me, so I wear heels now. Big old platform ones so I don’t look like I’m still in middle school.” Honestly, I’d gotten used to short jokes since I’d been like… eight. They were nothing new. They weren’t even annoying anymore. I wasn’t that short.
CJ lifted an impressive eyebrow at the same time he raised another scone to his mouth. “How tall are you?”
“How tall are you?”
His big, unexpected laugh made me grin a second before the sounds of Zac’s voice carried into the kitchen. Stretching to the side, I glanced around to find him standing in the doorway that I had learned the week before led to a staircase. The same staircase that led upstairs.
He was on the phone, looking in our direction. I could see that much. And he was arguing. I could hear that much.
“…is the problem? I’m doing what I have to do,” his low voice spat, irritation in every inch of his tone. In jeans and a light brown T-shirt, Zac stood there with one hand on the doorframe and his other one at his side balled into a fist.
When we made eye contact, I waved at him.
He gave me a small nod before that fisted hand came up and he held up an index finger.
Someone was on an important call. Okay. No problem.
“No, we agreed on it. No.” He ducked his head again to grumble into the receiver. He had it pretty much pressed against his mouth. That’s how I knew he was mad. I’d had conversations like that with my ex. I saw him dig a hand through his longish dark blond hair as he griped, “That’s not my fault!”
Yikes.
Turning back around to face CJ, I smiled at him. He gave me one right back.
“Why should I have to—” Zac’s voice carried for a second, but when I glanced back in the direction he’d been in, he wasn’t there anymore. But I could still hear him.
“Trevor’s still mad at him about the party,” CJ said out of nowhere.
What party? The one here weeks ago?
“I hope someone signs him. He’s got a lot left in him.”
I glanced up to find my new best friend eyeing the container of scones in front of me. I nudged them toward him again and watched as he pried the lid off and plucked two more out. I wanted to ask him if he knew anything I didn’t—but when you knew nothing, which was exactly the amount of knowledge in my brain regarding Zac and his career, everything was information—but kept my mouth shut.
If Zac wanted me to know, he would just tell me himself, right? Not that I was expecting anything. And hadn’t I literally just told myself to mind my own business like fifteen minutes ago?
Luckily and unluckily, I didn’t have to wonder about it too much because CJ’s phone started ringing. The ringtone must have meant something, because the next thing I knew, he was shoving his stool back, saying, “I need to take this. Thanks for the scones, Bianca.”
All I managed to do was say, “You’re welcome, CJ,” before he was heading out the doorway and up the staircase.
Well, that had been interesting.
It had made my whole day.
I twisted again to glance where Zac had disappeared to. I couldn’t hear him anymore. Maybe he just wanted some privacy to finish up a conversation that didn’t sound all that pleasant. Made sense. I could wait.
As I sat there, I pulled out my phone and opened my email app, figuring I might as well get some work in while I waited. Random people messaged me all the time with various cooking questions, especially when they were trying to tweak one of my recipes, and I tried my best to write them all back. Most of the time I did it while I was on the toilet, but there was no point in sitting around not doing anything, was there?
I answered one email. Two. Three. Four. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and after the fifteenth one—from two days ago—had been replied to, I glanced at the clock on the microwave across from me… almost an hour had gone by.