Don't Go Baking My Heart

Devon

Reba arrivedat his house on Saturday morning with her pastel pink hair up in two buns, a crop top that proclaimed “Time to Bake, Bitches!” and tight jeans. She strolled in like she owned his place, laptop tucked under her arm.

He hadn’t seen her since last weekend when the image of her slow hip movements had been burned into his brain. A distraction that kept popping up randomly throughout the week, which wasn’t ideal when he was trying to finish up his presentation. Dax Designs had been one of the companies offered to bid on construction of a new adults-only resort and spa. He couldn’t lose sight of his weekly to-do list, which didn’t include daydreaming about Reba’s legs, hips, or that damn tattoo.

It had been very unlike him to lose focus like that. He couldn’t blame any of it on the weed anymore. Something was happening to him, and he didn’t like it.

“Well, this is not at all colourful. Just what I expected from you. You decorate it yourself?” She plopped herself down onto his couch as she looked around. Her fingers stroked the arm of the black couch she currently occupied, her rainbow manicure a bright splash against the dark fabric.

“Yes.” He followed the slow movement of her fingers as they danced over that arm.

“Man of a few words, as usual. We’ll work on that,” she announced.

He tore his gaze away from her hand. “Why?” She wasn’t here to work on him. This was about the bake-off.

Reba crossed her legs, making herself more comfortable. He hadn’t been thrilled about allowing Reba into his home, but to get this done, he had no choice. He was protective of his space, even from his family members. He hadn’t had his family over for any long periods of time yet, so to have Reba here made him a little bit wary.

She was a colourful explosion in his otherwise subdued space. He didn’t do wild colours and was pleased with his end result. Subtle. Minimalistic was what he had been going for. His walls boasted some tasteful art prints—which were the only splashes of true colour to be found—and designs from architects he admired. His mother had visited and found the entire black and grey aesthetic to be cold. She’d tried to get him to add some pops of colour via throw pillows she had sewn. He had tucked them away in his bedroom and the guest room. They didn’t belong in his living room, and neither did Reba.

“From what you’ve told me about this company bake-off, there’s actually two parts to my master plan. The baking and the people skills. Clearly, you need help with both. And this can bring in the ‘get Devon to have some fun’ bonus round perfectly.”

Devon frowned as Reba reached into her overly colourful case and pulled out her laptop. Not surprisingly, the front was covered with random stickers. So much clutter. Devon shuddered as she booted it up. He didn’t have a single sticker on his that hadn’t already come with the laptop.

“What is all that stuff on there?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Reba tapped the top of the laptop. “Different sayings I like. Sailor Moon stuff. Fun things. Plain laptops are so boring.” She waved at his perfectly clear laptop and wrinkled her nose. “Case in point.”

“Clutter-free. Just like I like it.”

“Bor-ring,” she repeated. She tapped a nail against her cheek, drawing his eye to the curve of her cheekbone, which glinted with some bit of makeup he didn’t know the name for. Reba had a full face going on there. “We’ll work on that too.”

“You know, you didn’t have to get this dressed up for baking.”

“Dressed up? This is my casual day look.” She chuckled. “Dressed up, he says.” She shook her head, clearly amused.

“But your face is shiny right here.” He pointed to his own cheekbones. “That means you have on that, uh, thing that does that.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘highlighter.’ I barely have a full look going on. There’s a smidge of foundation, the highlighter, my winged eyeliner. Some mascara. A swish of gloss because leave the house with a bare lip? Never.” She shuddered. “And a dash of powder. That barely took me ten minutes.”

“Okay.” Devon didn’t have anything else to add to that.

It sounded like a lot, but what did he know? He remembered being over at Monica’s one time when she was doing one of her no-makeup looks, but she had taken quite a bit of time in the bathroom. Putting on makeup to look like you had none on was a strange concept, but he hadn’t probed further.

Reba’s makeup routine didn’t concern him. What was concerning was her desire to tweak him.

“Anyways, I hired you to help with baking, not a personality makeover.”

“Wrong. Didn’t you say your boss’s assistant basically told you that you needed to be more involved in work things?”

Devon regretted sharing that bit of information. When Reba had asked why he was doing this, he didn’t think it would be an issue to mention that. He should have known he couldn’t begin to predict what Reba would do.

“From what you’ve explained,” she went on, “your boss is looking for more from you. He wants to know you’re taking this seriously and willing to be a part of the team. Not just work-wise.”

“You don’t even know him.” Sure, he had explained the meeting, what Amanda had said, and what the bake-off entailed, but Reba suddenly thinking she had some insight into Dax was farfetched. How could Reba possibly think she knew anything about him without having met the man? “And I have people skills. I don’t need your help with that.”

Her laugh was loud enough that Devon was certain his neighbours could hear her through the walls. He didn’t usually have company over on a weekend. Reba’s appearance was sure to be noticed. They had decided to get an early start—seven weeks seemed like a lot, but time went by quickly—so Reba had arrived at eight so they could go over their game plan. At least she was punctual.

But now, instead of actually discussing baking plans, she was talking about people skills and helping him have fun? None of that mattered, at least where Reba was concerned. He didn’t need her for that. He just needed to get to the baking part.