Don't Go Baking My Heart

Devon

Makinggood on his promises was important to Devon, but this was one night he wanted to go back on his word. Although he had left his mother’s place later than he would like, the sun just setting as he pulled into his driveway, he had told Reba they would still do this.

He had spent most of the morning entertaining Leah with her toys and paint set. He wasn’t good with paint, more used to plain sketches, but she didn’t seem to mind when he painted a bit outside the lines. In fact, she found it incredibly funny and kept saying, “Not like that, Uncle Devon. I’ll show you!” which was unbearably cute.

Devon didn’t like engaging with other adults more than necessary, but small children were okay. He liked that they told it to you straight, no façade involved. It did, however, feel like a tiny dagger to the heart when Leah disparaged his cupcakes by claiming the others looked prettier. He shouldn’t have brought any of Reba’s. She was simply stating a fact, but damn if that didn’t bruise his ego.

It didn’t help that Maxi had also taken one bite of his and lamented the dryness. “You said your neighbour brought these over?” she asked as she chewed. “They were trying to get rid of their meh batch or what?”

Obviously, Devon hadn’t let on that he had made those. Instead, he had offered them some of Reba’s, trying to keep his feelings in check when Leah gobbled it down. He knew he couldn’t compete with someone who had been doing this for far longer than he had, and yet it irked. He had to get better at this. If he couldn’t conquer a simple cupcake, he sure as hell wasn’t going to succeed at a complicated Rubik’s Cube cake.

How had he allowed Reba to convince him this was a good idea? They didn’t have much time, and while the concept of the cake appealed to his love for design and structural specifications, it still felt like a huge task.

Reba seemed to think it was fine to wing it, having never attempted something like this, but from the videos Devon had looked up online, this wasn’t something you just did on a whim. Preparation was important. He didn’t want his cake to look like one of those failed Pinterest projects.

“It’s not that bad. A little dry, yeah, but edible still.” He tried to make a plug for his cakes, even knowing it was a lost cause.

“You were duped into taking these is all I’m saying. The frosting is even all wonky. Did they let their child make this?”

Devon shrugged. “It was a kind gesture.”

“Yeah, nah. You been scammed, brother dearest.”

He had dropped his defence of the cupcakes there. Maxi would become suspicious if he kept trying to preserve the cakes’ honour. He barely interacted with his neighbours, to begin with, so even admitting he had accepted baked goods from them was unusual.

After the cupcake bashing, he had become immersed in listening to Leah’s stories about school and everything she was doing on her vacation so far. When his aunt—who he wasn’t actually certain was related to them in any way—arrived, that was another couple of hours of food, talking, and her wanting an update on all their lives. She wasn’t shy about trying to get the details of Maxi’s divorce out of her or wanting to know why Devon wasn’t married with a few children yet.

Keiran had definitely chosen the perfect time to be off-island.

Devon’s reply had been that he was working on the spouse part. He then tried to distract her by offering the questionable cupcakes, which had brought another round of teasing from his mother and Maxi.

“Whichever neighbour brought these for you really don’t like you, boy,” his mother had joked again.

His aunt had either lost all her taste buds over the years or she didn’t care because she ate two without comment. It didn’t make him feel any better, just wonder when he could make his escape.

He had finally made his exit, letting Reba know he was on the way. They didn’t have much time and during the week wasn’t ideal for any of this. And yet, right now, he wasn’t sure if this was a wise decision.

Night-time Reba had an entirely different energy. She hadn’t rolled up in fishnets or worn shorts like at the beach house or anything, but he couldn’t decide if the soft-looking grey leggings and pink top that barely covered her stomach was far worse. It didn’t make sense. Leggings weren’t on the same level as fishnets, for fuck’s sake, and yet he wanted to call this entire baking venture off.

Whatever that grey material was made of, it fit snugly over her ass and shapely legs. Devon’s body was enjoying all of it. What the hell was wrong with him?

“You look like you don’t want me here?”

He looked away from the swinging heart that was attached to her navel ring. Shit, he hadn’t even realised he’d been fixated on that and met her amused gaze. “That’s not what…” He cleared his throat. “It’s late.”

Reba shrugged. “It’s not even seven yet, but if you want me to go, that’s your call.”

“No, it’s fine.” It would be fine, dammit. He wasn’t about to be defeated by leggings and a swingy top. He had survived last night’s outfit—some soft-looking fabric wasn’t going to be his undoing. “Is this what you wore to brunch?”

Why the hell was he asking about that? They needed to get in the kitchen and get going. He didn’t give a damn what she wore at some day drinking event. In fact, talking about anything other than baking was prolonging her being here.

“Nope. Wanna see?” She reached for her phone before he could decline, and he ended up with a face full of Reba in a short purple dress, legs draped across a chair, long pink hair falling straight over her shoulder. “Trina took this one. She’s good at making me look sexy.”

Devon didn’t believe that for one second. She definitely had sexiness covered on her own, even in her casual wear.

She pointed at her navel ring. “You seem to like this one. I changed it when I went home.” She pressed her finger against the heart to make it swing. “Cute, right?”

“Hmm.”