Page 61 of Baked

I like to think of it as romantic.

Hopefully Rachel would feel the same way too and not call the cops on him.

The cupcakes he and his friends had spent the evening making were placed on the floor, leaving a trail of sugar from the front door to the kitchen, where he stood with an actual full-sized cake. It looked no less crappy than the cupcakes he’d made, but he figured it was the thought behind it that counted, right?

Hearing the car pull up outside the building was what had him straightening up. She was here.

You’ve got this.

But as time slipped by and faint sounds of footsteps echoed in the corridor, he worried that he might not have this. What if his grand gesture really did end up in her filing a restraining order?

He heard the latch on the front door click open. It was too late now.

Blowing out a breath, he prepared himself.

Now or never, man.

A small gasp from the hallway told him that she’d found her first cupcake. A shocked “What the fuck?” indicated she’d found the second or maybe the third.

A second later, Rachel was standing in front of him.

His beautiful fairy had her hair down, framing her delicate face and big blue eyes. She was wearing shorts and a cute little white camisole.

As always, she took his breath away. But it was the panic in her eyes that he tried to focus on. He could tell by the mist and her parted lips that there was a very real possibility that she was going to flee. Or she was at least thinking about fleeing. He couldn’t have that.

“Hunter, what are you ...? How did you ...? I mean ...”

He put her out of her misery and jumped in. “I’m here to fight for you, honeybun.” His eyes went to the cake he was still holding. “I made this for you. I made all of them for you. I know they don’t look like much, but I was trying to think of the best way to show you how much I love you, and I remembered you telling me how you like to put love into everything you bake.” He could hear himself babbling, but he wasn’t done. “So, although they may look like they’ve been run over by a truck a few times, I made sure to put all my love in them. The way you like it.”

By the time their eyes met again, a solitary tear was sliding down her cheek. That was enough to kick him into action. The next thing he knew, the cake was on the counter, and he was stepping into her space, his thumb swiping away the damp as he stared into those deep pools he’d missed so much.

“Please tell me you’re crying ’cause you’re worried I’m gonna make you eat the cake?”

His joke worked; a small smile broke, but it wasn’t enough to stop another teardrop from falling. “Did you use eggs?” She sniffled.

He was the one smiling now. “Of course I used eggs, honeybun. Are you saying it looks like I didn’t use eggs?”

She looked over at the cake on the counter again and then down at the cupcakes lining the floor. “They look a little flat and ... kinda sad.”

“What about the frosting? I used the bright pink you like, and did you see the glitter?”

She managed to steal his breath as her lips tipped up into a full-blown smile. He was getting distracted, like he usually did when she was around. But this time he couldn’t just drag her into his arms or plant a sloppy kiss on her pink lips, and that was a real shame. It was why he needed to stop flirting and get back to convincing her that they belonged together. Cupcake critiquing would have to wait.

“I missed you, baby,” he started. “I’ll make you cupcakes every damn day for the rest of my life if it means you come back to me.”

“Would I have to eat them?” She was still smiling. That had to be a good sign. Right?

His heart skipped a beat. She was teasing him. No more tears had hit her cheeks. And she hadn’t run. This was going better than he thought.

Keep going.

“I mean, that’s up to you, honeybun. If you wanna waste perfectly good cupcakes ’cause they don’t live up to your unrealistic beauty standards, then that’s on you.”

Her giggle was music to his ears. That was what he was fighting for. To hear that sound every day for the rest of his life.

“I think that your idea of perfectly good and my idea of perfectly good are very different. Hint ... mine includes eggs.”

“I used eggs!” he protested. “I swear to God there are eggs in there.”

---