Page 15 of Coping Skills

Chapter Eight

Two thirds of a cup of butter. What the fuck?

Daniel looked at the sticks of butter on the counter, trying to figure out how to cut them into two thirds of a cup. There was a marking for one third of a cup on each one. He considered cutting each of those thirds and leave the rest, but that seemed wasteful.There are sixteen tablespoons in a cup. Two thirds of sixteen is ten point six repeating. Not exactly easy to cut.

He glanced down at the butter sticks again, examining the wrappers. They weren’t even lined up properly. Even if he cut at ten and two thirds of a tablespoon, it wouldn’t be accurate.How are people expected to work like this?

After considering abandoning the chocolate chocolate chip cookies that he’d found in favor of something that didn’t require such asinine fractions from a product that couldn’t even mark measurements with any degree of accuracy, he remembered they had a food scale. He could weigh them, then measure out two thirds that way, ensuring accuracy and better cookies.

A knock sounded on his apartment door. He set the scale down to answer it, a smile on his face.

Elena stepped through, going up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips. Coop had gone to a party tonight. He’d tried to convince Daniel to join him, but he’d declined and invited Elena over instead, happy for alone time he didn’t have to bribe his roommate to get. And he was making her cookies, partly as payback for all the pies she’d made him, and partly because he just wanted to do something nice for her and see her smile.

With a hand on her back, he deepened the kiss, enjoying her taste—a mixture of chocolate and cinnamon—for a second before pulling back. “Come on in. I’m making cookies.”

She followed him into the kitchen, setting her messenger bag on the floor by the couch on the way in. He continued weighing out the butter so he could get two thirds of a cup.

“What are you doing?”

Elena’s voice came from right next to him, catching him by surprise. “Weighing the butter so I can get the right amount.”

“Um, okay.” She took a step closer, invading his space, leaning over his arm to see his set up. “What kind of cookies are you making?”

“I found a recipe for chocolate chocolate chip that I thought sounded good.”

“That does sound good.” She peered at his phone where he had the recipe, picking it up and scrolling around with her finger. “This calls for two thirds of a cup. Why are you weighing the butter?”

“So I can get two thirds of a cup.”

A snort of laughter came out of her. “Why don’t you just cut ten and a half tablespoons and call it good?”

“Because two thirds of a cup is ten and two thirds tablespoons, not ten and a half.”

She shrugged, grinning. “Close enough. It’s not like the tablespoon marks are more than estimates anyway.”

His brows came down in consternation. “I know. It’s completely inaccurate. How am I supposed to get any amount other than half or whole cups that way?” He gestured toward the kitchen scale holding a small plate with a growing pile of butter pats as he added some a little at a time to get to 151.3 grams, which was how much two thirds of a cup of butter should weigh.

Laughter bubbled out of her. She tried to hold it back at first, but when he turned to look at her, she lost it. Bent over, hanging onto the counter with one hand to hold herself upright, she cracked up. A smile tugged at his lips in response.

When she calmed down enough to catch her breath, she stood up and wiped the tears from under her eyes from laughing so hard. “Thanks. I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”

“Glad I could help,” he deadpanned.

She grinned at him. “Seriously, though. They’re just cookies. If the amounts are off a little, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“But—“ He couldn’t help it. Measurements should be accurate. That was just the way it worked.

Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around him, and the softness of her breasts pressing against his torso made him forget whatever he’d been going to say. “Finish weighing your butter. Do you want help with the cookies?”

He shook his head, staring down into her beautiful brown eyes. “No.” He had to clear his throat to lose the rasp that she caused. “No. I want to make them for you. You can lick the spoon, though.”

Her smile grew wider, and she shot him a provocative wink. “Sounds good. Maybe I’ll lick something else after.”

Unf. The thought of her going down on him sent all the blood rushing to his cock. Maybe he’d leave enough cookie dough so she could lick that off him. God. Like the whipped cream she brought with one of his pies. He jacked off to memories of that on a regular basis.

He swallowed. “That sounds good.”

With a quick squeeze of his ass, she let him go, hopping up on the counter to watch him make the cookies, reaching across to stick her finger in the bowl to sneak a taste once he’d gotten all the ingredients mixed.

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