Page 101 of Delicious

“The oven?” I prompt.

“Oh, right, yes.” He checks the recipe book and turns the oven on to heat up. “Now what?”

“Now we measure everything out.”

We gather a collection of plates and bowls and carefully measure all the wet and dry ingredients, quickly covering the breakfast bar in supplies. Euan finds a large mixing bowl from the back of one of the cupboards, washes and dries it, and puts it on the countertop with a satisfying thud.

“Hopefully, this won’t take too long. I know you have lots of marking to do,” I say.

“Lots might have been an exaggeration.”

“To get out of making cupcakes?”

He clears his throat. “Maybe.”

I laugh. “Why, Euan, that’s devious. I like it.”

“Don’t tell Peter.”

I pretend to zip my lips shut. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Wait. We need to double the recipe.”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Thanks for remembering.”

“Teamwork.”

His smile is so contagious I grin from ear to ear.

Another round of weighing and measuring commences until, finally, we’re ready to start mixing. I put the butter and sugar in the mixing bowl and, using a fork, attempt to mash them together.

I frown. “Maybe we should have warmed the butter up somehow first?”

Euan glances at the microwave.

“I think it’s too late now we’ve added the sugar.”

“True, it will probably caramelise. Want me to take over?”

“I’m good for a few.”

I mash the butter and sugar until my hand and arm get tired and then hand the bowl and fork to Euan. I lean against the breakfast bar as he takes a turn. The butter is a lot more malleable now. Euan’s concentration face is perfect. He wrinkles his nose and pinches his lips together. I could kiss him. I won’t, obviously, but I want to.

Euan catches my eye. “What are you thinking?”

Heat flushes into my cheeks. “Oh, nothing.”

He smiles. “It wasn’t nothing.”

I can’t tell him what I was thinking. Think, Cameron, think. “I was thinking you’ve got a much better hand technique than me.” What was that?

It’s his turn to blush. “I don’t know about that,” he stammers.

Now I’m thinking about whether hedoeshave a good hand technique. I bet he does. Now I’m imagining him in the shower, rubbing one out. My pulse increases. Blood thunders in my ears, racing towards—oh no. Think unsexy thoughts. Quick.

“Do you think this is ready?” Euan shows me the contents of the bowl.

I check the recipe book. “It says the mixture needs to be light and creamy.”

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