Read Next to You for Free Online

whole grain, applesauce-for-sugar muffins in this house. Not today anyway. There would be muffins and they would be gloriously jumbo, mouth wateringly sweet and at least eight hundred calories apiece.
    Luscious. That’s what they would be. Glorious, luscious, hip widening, boob enlarging muffins.
    She lined up her newly purchased baking ingredients—flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder—enough to make fattening muffins every day for a week. She grabbed an unopened bag of almonds and a bottle of almond extract. She had picked up a basket of peaches at a farmer’s stand on the drive up yesterday, intending to eat them for breakfast but they could be sacrificed in the name of muffins. She would make her should-practically-be-patented peach almond muffins.
    She grabbed a mixing bowl and measuring spoons, turned on the oven to preheat, logged into satellite radio on her laptop, and got to work. Every time her breathing began to race with anxiety, she made herself stop and calm down. She measured and sifted, peeled and sliced the juicy peaches, ground the almonds, spooned batter into a muffin pan.
    Two hours later, she had a sink full of dirty dishes and one dozen muffins glistening with chunks of peaches and a sprinkling of demerara sugar. She took a deep breath as she untied her apron. She did it. She’d just used the kitchen without freaking out like yesterday or causing herself grievous bodily harm. It was noon on Day 2 of Operation Demon Vanquish and not only was she still alive, but she had actually accomplished something.
    Phlox felt a smile creeping over her face. There hadn’t been many smiles in the past year, but this one felt good. Granted, it was silly that the mere baking of muffins could make her feel so suddenly competent . It wasn't like finishing a triathlon or launching a new product, but it was a start. A tiny, successful start.
    When the muffins were cool enough to touch, she popped one out of the pan and took a huge bite. She moaned and closed her eyes in pleasure. Some things were just better than sex, and her peach almond muffins were one such thing. I should call them peach almond orgasms. She was dying to text Zee.
    Hah, she thought. Zee hadn’t said anything about social media. And baking wasn’t work-related. Phlox arranged the muffin, missing its one bite, on a pretty dessert plate then took a photo with her phone. She uploaded it to Facebook and Instagram, then tweeted about it for good measure.
    She poured a tall glass of cold milk and polished off the muffin. Then polished off two more. Then felt kinda’ ill. Maybe she needed to pace herself on the fattening foods.
    Maybe she needed to share.
    After rummaging in the back of a cabinet, she unearthed a stack of nested baskets. She pried one off the stack and lined it with a lime green linen napkin. She carefully arranged half a dozen muffins in the basket, then tucked another linen napkin over top.
    Jared Connor’s pickup truck was parked in the small driveway next to the cottage, so he was somewhere on the property. But there was no answer to her knock, not even a “I’m not dressed” reply. She peered back toward the garden, though she knew he wasn’t there. She’d walked right past the garden on the way to the cottage. Either he was out on the furthest edges of her property where, frankly, Phlox didn’t often venture—nothing but overgrown fields out that way—or he was inside the cottage. Maybe he was in the shower? Or had headphones on?
    Or was banging his girlfriend, she thought sourly. Cherise had described his references as impeccable. Of course, it was doubtful that Cherise had asked about his love life. She eyed the basket of muffins in her hands and for a moment considered taking them back to the house. Then she stopped herself.
    Don’t be a bitch. Leave him the muffins. His girlfriend might enjoy them too. If she took them back to the house, she’d end up eating all of them. While she could stand to gain a few pounds