When I finally clear my mouth, I move back to the fridge, and this time, I take out a bottle of beer. I crack it open and alternate between pulls from the bottle and mouthfuls of cookie until the last three are gone. My stomach protests at the last bite, but I can’t waste it. It doesn’t matter how bad her creations are, my deep-seated need to consume every bit of Cassandra won’t let me throw them away.
