Page 15 of The Date
Damn. I swallowed. I was going to go against all my own good intentions and beg Cal to take me upstairs before we even gotstarted.
"It's settled then," I croaked. I forced myself to take a step back from him, and his fingers trailed down my forearm to my wrist before he dropped my hand. "Where do westart?"
"You're really sure?" His eyes held mine. "Thisis how you want to spend your Valentine's Day? Bakingcakes?"
"I want to spend my Valentine's Day withyou," I told him honestly. And my birthday, in April. And my Halloween. And my Christmas, too. "Show me what todo."
The next hour was spent zesting, measuring, cracking, and mixing up batches of the most fragrant batter I'd ever smelled. We'd scooped it into oversized muffin tins, and set them to bake, and then to cool. I could see how the smell of the place had seeped into the walls - hell, I felt it seeping into my damn pores, filling up all the empty, questioning places inside of me with something warm andhopeful.
Pathetically sappy, I know. But I couldn't help it, damnit.
And the whole time we baked, Cal was beside me, his hand on my waist as he monitored my egg-cracking technique (which was on-point), his head leaning on my arm as he checked out my sugar measuring ability (which was sadlylacking).
I laughed more in that hour than I had in fuckingmonths, and I mean that literally. Something had been missing within me for a long time, and I'd gone so long without it, I'd hardly noticed the lack anymore. And then suddenly, it wasn't missinganymore.
I'd also gotten more aroused in that hour than I could remember being in mylife.I was perpetually on-edge. But once we'd begun baking, Cal had morphed into this hard-assed, super-strict version of himself. Every time I tried to kiss him, he'd pull away with a glint in his eye. Every time I tried to touch him, he'd remind me the secret to learning wasfocus.He was driving me crazy, pushing buttons I hadn't even known Ipossessed.
It wasglorious.
All the while, Cal asked me a million questions - about myAbuelita, who taught me to cook while my mom was working; about my dad who split when I was way too young to remember him; about how my brothers and I were all named after my mom's favorite romance novel characters, because she wanted us to grow up to beheroes.
I'd expected him to laugh at that - God knew, I found it hilarious - but he'd just nodded and recited some quote he'd learned from his grandmother, "You never come as close to predicting the future as you do when you name ababy."
I asked Cal questions, too - about his grandmother, who seemed like a riot; about his parents, and where they'd gone; about how the hell we'd managed to grow up three miles from each other, graduate high school just four years apart, and never meet eachother.
"Coincidence," Calshrugged.
But I had my ownideas.
I was pretty sure it wasfate.
While the cupcakes were baking, I'd also asked him innocently enough whatFanaillemeant.
"It's Irish, like my Gran," he'd said. "It meansvanilla."
"The... The Vanilla Bakery?" I'd laughed so hard, I'd nearly toppled off the stool where I was perched. Because, honestly, it was too perfect. The place was the physical embodiment of vanilla, from the smell to the adorable decor. "That's socute."
"Uh huh. It'ssupercute, as Maura would say," Cal had agreed, sliding into my physical space like he'd done about a hundred times over the past hour. Like every time before, my pulse rate shotthatmuch higher,thatmuch faster. I was completely attuned to him now, on a hair trigger. "But remember, Ashley, thebakeryis vanilla. Thebakerisnot."
I'd swallowed hard, feeling my skin flush from my chest to my cheeks, but when I'd tried to catch Cal's wrist, he'd danced away and flashed me a reprovingglare.
I was dying. Dy-ing.
Finally, when the cupcakes were totally cool (and my patience was totally shot), Cal packed them away to frost the following day. He claimed that it was easy and it wouldn't take long atall.
He was probably lying, and I didn't care one iota. I'd had two days of foreplay after years of need, and if I didn't get him inside me soon, I wouldn't be responsible for myactions.
Still, because a promise was a promise, he grabbed two of the cooled cupcakes and piled them high with frosting from a piping bag in the fridge. He placed them on a single plate and placed a hand on my shoulder, forcing me back onto the stool when I tried to getup.
"Eat," hesaid.
I was so freaking hungry by then - hungry for cupcakes, hungry for Cal - that I dove in face-first, taking a huge bite from the thing. Sure enough, my entire mouth got smeared withfrosting.
"How do people eat these without getting covered," I asked around the bite in mymouth.
I glanced over at Cal. He'd pried off the bottom of the cupcake and inverted it atop the frosting, making himself a little frostingsandwich.
"What the hell isthat?"
