The Apple Tree by Kara Jimenez Page A

sorry.”
    This made no sense. She rolled her eyes. “I’m supposed to just say it’s okay? I still have no idea why you were sitting outside my apartment except that you’re probably a huge creep.”
    He flinched at her words and then took her hand. “Bianca.”
    Her stomach flipped. He made her nervous in a good way, but also because she wasn’t sure about his motives.
    “ I know you have no reason to believe me, but please.” His gray eyes locked with hers. “I would never hurt you, and I will never, ever spy on you again.”
    She tore her hand away, avoiding his eyes and instead looked up at the gold lamps hanging above. “I liked you when we talked over lunch, but I don’t know how I feel now… after finding you watching me and then the way you acted the first time we met. I can’t figure you out and I’m not sure it’s worth trying.” She turned and walked back into the kitchen.
     
     

 
     
    T raffic on Bianca’s blog continued to spike and it set her into a frenzy, trying to come up with recipes to keep the new readers around. Friday morning, she hopped downstairs, eager to work on a recipe for gluten-free pumpkin pancakes when she stopped short in the kitchen entrance. An unfamiliar, gray-haired man sat in her chair at the table, casually drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper as if he lived there. Her mother’s red bathrobe hung around his thin shoulders. Bianca cleared her throat, irritated that she didn’t have the kitchen to herself.
    He looked up from his paper. “Oh, hi… I’m David.” His hand reached out for her to shake.
    She ignored it. “You’re a friend of my mom’s?”
    Dropping his hand, he sipped from her favorite blue mug, the one that said, Corvallis High Class of 2008 . “Is your mom Lisa? She didn’t tell me she had a daughter.”
    “ I’m her daughter.” Could this get any more awkward?
    David smiled and looked back at his paper.
    She set to work mixing her pancakes and trying to ignore him, but he kept sniffing and clearing his throat. She moved her mixing bowl well away from him and whatever germs he may have and then carefully recorded each ingredient as they were dumped into the bowl. One cup of pureed cooked pumpkin. Three eggs. Two teaspoons of cinnamon. No one would praise her recipes if the measurements were off.
    While the griddle warmed, she pulled the bowl with her sourdough starter toward her, peeking in. Still no bubbles. She added a bit more flour, stirring until it was a gooey mess again and replaced it in the warm spot next to the stove.
    Just as the first cakes were flipped, her mother strolled into the room. She walked up behind David, ran her hands over his shoulders and leaned down to give him a kiss.
    Bianca turned her head. Not something she wanted to watch.
    Everyone raved about the pancakes. Owen ate three and he was a picky eater, but Bianca thought she needed to add one less egg. She whipped up another batch just to be sure. That fixed the problem. They were perfect. Sweet, fluffy, gluten-free goodness. She didn’t follow a gluten-free diet herself, but she knew lots of people did and they were on the web looking for recipes.
    Her neon-pink camera stood on the windowsill. She grabbed it and took a photo of her creation, but the focus captured more detail of the plate than the actual pancakes. It didn’t come close to one of those fancy pictures on the more popular blogs. Maybe Peter would be willing to help with her photographs? Money was short so she couldn’t pay him, but he seemed like a nice guy. Perhaps he’d give her a few tips so she could take better photos herself.
    She set the camera down and surveyed the kitchen. Egg shells and an assortment of gluten-free flours littered the pale beige countertop and dishes filled the sink. Somehow, she’d even managed to splatter batter on the striped green curtains. She groaned and then got to work cleaning up the mess. Cooking and creating food would be a perfect way to