Page 40 of Cut The Cake

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jenny reached for the tin of cocoa. “Chocolate, of course.”

Nick stifled a grin as she dumped an insane amount of dark powder into the bowl that already contained the flour. To compensate for the extra dry ingredient, he deftly added a bit more butter and an extra splash of milk to the liquids.

“Now what?”

“Next comes the fun part. We mix.” Ignoring the oversized industrial unit at the opposite end of the counter, he pulled out a small hand-held mixer he used for the occasional small batch or single cake. His grin widened when Jenny reached for the device. Her awkward grip on the handle told him she’d never used one before. He stated the obvious. “You don’t cook much.”

“I’ll have you know I made a mean mac ’n’ cheese when I was in college.” In mock indignation, she propped one hand at her waist.

“From a box?” A smile tugged at his mouth.

“Okay, you got me.” Her fingers dropped to her side. “But it was still pretty good.” As though she owed him an explanation, she continued, “My aunt worked full-time and helped my uncle with the family farm. She didn’t have time to have us girls underfoot in her kitchen. In college, I lived on fast food and the occasional meal from the cafeteria. After graduation, I went to work for my cousin. She has a full-time housekeeper. These days, toast and coffee are about the extent of my cooking repertoire.”

“We’re going to add to that tonight,” he assured her. “By the time we finish, you’ll know how to make your own cupcakes from scratch.”

“I won’t know how much of each ingredient to use.”

“That’s the easy part. There are plenty of recipes available. You can find one in practically any cookbook.”

Doubt flickered in Jenny’s eyes. She lowered the mixer. “But they won’t be as good as yours.”

“No. They won’t be as good as mine,” he admitted. His recipes were closely guarded secrets, but even if he shared them with Jenny, hers still wouldn’t turn out quite the same. He’d spent many years honing the techniques for the fluffy buttercream frosting that was the mainstay of his business. She wouldn’t be able to learn that in a single cooking lesson. “You’ll get better with practice. Are you ready?”

She nodded and followed his direction to lower the beaters into the bowl. Like most novice bakers, she held the mixer at an angle. Which was fine, as long as she didn’t mind spraying batter over the entire kitchen.

“A little straighter,” he coached from just far enough away to avoid getting splattered or, worse, brushing against her shoulder.

When Jenny only tipped the beaters at a steeper angle, he gritted his teeth. So much for keeping his distance. He’d have to demonstrate. Cautiously, he slipped his hand over hers. Trying without much luck to ignore the floral scent that floated atop the sugary-sweet smell of the ingredients, he showed her how to hold the mixer parallel to the counter. With the flick of a switch, the motor purred to life.

Jenny’s laughter rose over the noise as the sturdy little machine churned. His heart skipped a beat as two of his favorite sounds echoed through the empty kitchen, and he gave himself another stern reminder that he and Jenny could never be more than friends. Needing an excuse to put some much-needed space between himself and the woman who was engaged to someone else, he relinquished his hold on her to grab a spatula. “Be sure you scrape the sides of the bowl,” he said, handing across the plastic scraper.

Though he stayed one step out of reach, he remained alert, ready to spring into action if the beaters tipped and threatened to splatter them both with batter. Fortunately for both of them, Jenny proved to be an apt student.

“Good. Good,” he encouraged while the ingredients blended.

When she’d thoroughly combined the wet stuff, he grabbed the other bowl. Positioning it between them, he slowly spooned in the dry ingredients while she continued mixing. Despite his efforts to keep space between them, a sudden awareness flooded him. To compensate, he kept his head bent, his eyes on the task at hand while he did his best to concentrate on not spilling any of the mixture.

He’d barely sifted a cupful into the bowl when Jenny’s soft gasp rattled his focus. Worried that she’d somehow caught a finger in the beaters, he searched for signs of a problem. But there was nothing wrong. Instead of a grimace, Jenny’s mouth had formed an O. Her eyes had widened as the batter turned a chocolate brown. He laughed softly. Warmth spread through his chest at her clear enjoyment of something he admittedly took for granted too often. Thankful for the reminder of the simple pleasures that came from baking, he let his guard down for just an instant.

And in that moment, their eyes met.

Nick didn’t even try to look away. Time slowed and seemed to stretch while he lost himself in the depths of Jenny’s dark orbs. Or, maybe he found himself. He didn’t know. What he did know was that he didn’t want the moment to end, didn’t want to let go.

The soft whir of the mixer faltered.

Nick snapped to attention. While they were lost in each other’s gazes, Jenny had let go of the spatula. And, as they were known to do, this one had gotten caught between the beaters. He snapped off the power.

In the sudden silence, Jenny blinked as if waking from a dream. She ducked her head, but not before Nick noticed the faintest hint of a smile that played across her lips. Whatever they’d shared, she’d felt it as much as he did. And while he told himself that was a bad thing, somehow, he couldn’t help but be glad that the moment had affected her as much as it had him.

“Did I ruin it?” she asked, staring into the bowl.

“No, everything’s fine.” He grabbed the spatula by the wooden handle and tugged it free. “This happens all the time.”

“Not to me, it doesn’t,” she murmured.

Sensing her words carried a double meaning, Nick cleared his throat for the second time that night. He wasn’t quite sure how, but he managed to regain his equilibrium. Determined to hang onto it, he handed Jenny the spatula. “Let’s finish up so we can put these in the oven.” He didn’t wait for her response, but hit the power button and began adding the rest of the dry ingredients to the mix. Once they’d poured the batter into the prepared pan and slid it into the oven, he set the timer and turned to her again. “Ready for the fun part?”

“I thought we were already having fun,” Jenny protested, her eyebrows pulling down at the center.

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