Page 57 of Forever Home

Especially considering that Jaxson has fumbled over the apple pie he’s been working on more times than I can count. The director is getting increasingly upset by the fact that he keeps fumbling. Demanding retakes only makes Jaxson fumble even worse. The entire situation is more than amusing, my hand constantly going to my mouth as I try to hide the smile and laughter that persist in escapingme.

I shouldn’t find it funny. I mean, this is his life, creating this show. Making a name for himself further than he already has. But it’s just so damn amusing to see the great Jaxson Rivers fumbling all over himself like it’s his first time in the kitchen.

The moment he attempts to place the pie crust into the oven without the leveling stones or basting it, I can’t help but step in. “Baste it first.”

A few eyes turn to me, but Jaxson gives me a slightly grateful look before picking up the butter and basting brush to do as I instructed. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I watch him following my instructions only to forget the stones again.

“You forgot the stones.”

“Cut!” the director shouts, his eyes darting towards me. I bite my tongue, glancing elsewhere as I step back, pretending that I’m not doing anything wrong. A voiceless apology leaves my lips when I look up to find him staring at me once more. “Let’s do one more take to get it in the oven.”

This time, Jaxson gets it right. A sense of accomplishment washes over me as I watch him slide it into the oven… only to see him turn to cut the apples, making the slices too big. Irritation fills me as he places them into a bowl, splashing them with lemon juice only to grab the eggs and sugar. Wait… that’s white sugar… he should use dark brown.

“What the hell? What kind of rookie mistake is that?” I gasp, storming forward, no longer able to contain myself as I snatch the small bowl of sugar from his hand before he places it into the pan of melted butter on the stove. I don’t care if they’re filming a show. There’s no way in hell I’m letting him butcher this pie.

“Madison, what are you doing?” he says between gritted teeth. “We’re filming.”

“I don’t give a shit what you’re doing,” I shake my head. “No way in hell am I letting you fuck up this pie in my kitchen. Everybody knows you need brown sugar, not white.”

“That’s not true.”

Giving him a sideways glance, I narrow my gaze. “How many times as a kid did you help me and my mom bake? Don’t tell me it isn’t true…”

“Madison, you’re interrupting.”

I place down the bowl of white sugar and grab the container of brown from the shelf behind me without even looking. My hands move on instinct as I bring it towards the slowly melted pan of butter on the stove. The whisk within my hand is an extension of myself as I quickly melt down the sugar, letting it blend with butter, before turning it onto a low heat.

“Yeah, and so was your haircut senior year, but we don’t talk about that, do we?”

“Hey!” he quickly snaps in shock. “What was wrong with my hair?”

Glancing at him again, I let out a soft chuckle. “A mullet looked better than the bowl shape you had on your head.”

The comment causes soft laughter to escape from a few of the producing team, as we both stop and stare at them only to see a smile cross the producer himself as he waves for us to continue with what we’re doing.

“Madi—”

Ignoring Jaxson, I turn to the apples and pick up the knife before looking at him. “Every single one of these slices needs to be cut in half or they won’t cook evenly.”

I quickly make a few slices through the apples showing him as an example before he quickly stops me and takes the knife away. “There’s nothing wrong with the apples.”

“Yes, there is,” I reply flatly. “Now, are you going to cut them, or am I?”

“You know you sound like a nagging wife,” he grumbles, causing me to stop and turn to him, pointing the sugar-covered whisk in his direction.

“Keep on, and I’m gonna show you a nagging wife. Now, do you need me to hold your hand or can you do it yourself?”

“I can do it, Madison. I’m not two,” he says sternly, causing my eyes to narrow at him.

“You can cook a lot of things, Jaxson, but pies clearly aren’t one of them. Now cut the damn apples.”

“Madison—”

I continue to glare at him until he sighs and turns to the bowl, cutting the apples as I instructed. There’s a sense of satisfaction in putting himin his place, regardless of the situation. To know that Jaxson Rivers can be humbled is an exciting thing.

Apples cut, Jaxson takes them over to the brown sugar butter mixture on the stove and begins to stir in the apples. The blend comes together perfectly as I reach for the secret ingredient that most people forget: salt.

“What are you doing?” Jaxson asks, staring at me with a raised brow.

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