Don't Go Baking My Heart

“Why? Are your stone-cold defences down or what?”

He didn’t drop her hand, just kept up that loose grip around her wrist. Reba wasn’t complaining. She liked being all up in his space. The fact that he was allowing it was unusual, though. “Never. Armour’s intact and impenetrable.” He sounded like he was trying so hard to convince himself.

“Well, that all sounds like bullshit to me. You’re still holding my hand,” she pointed out, noticing the mole at the tip of his nose for the first time. Huh. Well, wasn’t that just cute and strategically placed for kissing?

“So I am.”

What the hell was up with him? Either he was truly too tired—which was making him act out of character—or something else was going on that she didn’t have a clue about.

He shook himself and finally released her wrist. “How was your shoot?”

“Ah.” Had he been thinking about that all the time? He had asked about it during their conversation on Thursday, too. She grinned up at him. “You really want to talk about that now? We need to get to baking.”

“I’m curious. How did it go? I can’t help wanting to do a deep dive into things that just seem outside of logic to me.”

So that was it. Devon was trying to understand the situation. Maybe she could tantalise him with some details. She still had so much work to do to get him to succumb. Reba wasn’t a sore loser, generally, but in this, she would definitely pout if she failed.

Apart from the shoot being super professional and going smoothly, she had asked the photographer for some sexy single shots after the main shoot. She could share those if she felt so inclined.

“You can’t make sense of everything,” she said.

“But I can try.”

“We can bake and talk. I know you can multitask.” She didn’t wait for his response, but he was clearly following her to the kitchen.

She noticed the cupcakes set up under a plastic food cover. They looked just like the photo he’d sent, a clear improvement from his first attempts. Of course, he wouldn’t allow himself to be bested by some baked goods.

“Oooh! These look pretty.” She removed the cover and inspected them.

He had decided on vanilla cupcakes with strawberry frosting. Each cake was topped off with a strawberry, a blueberry, and a sprig of mint leaf. Devon’s overachieving ass had ensured a good presentation, but the taste would determine if he had listened to anything she had said previously.

“It’s good.” He sounded confident.

“I’ll be the judge.” She bit into the cupcake and chewed. Finally, the cake itself was moist and not too sweet, the frosting a perfect complement to the vanilla. “Okay, you pass. This is good. You’ve improved!” She raised her palm for a high five, and he complied without a single complaint.

She was so weakening his armour bit by bit. He may not want to admit that, but it was happening regardless.

She munched on another cupcake while instructing him to get out the ingredients. She had sent him the recipe they would be working on prior to today, so he’d had enough time to sort out everything they would need. Spritz cookies were her favourite to make since she could use the piping bag to get inventive with her shapes. A cookie stamp was easier in ensuring the shapes came out perfectly, but Reba preferred to use the bag. The consistency of the batter was more important in determining how well the process went than worrying about a symmetrical cookie shape. The unknown factor was half the fun.

“So the photos came out beautifully. The photographer was great, and Scott worked his magic.” She watched Devon’s more than capable hands unwrap the softened butter.

“What magic is that?”

“Not sure how much you know about his work, but he’s a creative director and does makeup, so he made us all pretty and designed the entire set, chose the props for the whole thing. It was like a work of art, but not so overpowering that the models didn’t stand out.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“For sure. I have some behind-the-scenes shots if you wanna see.”

Devon reached for the mixer. “You’ve done this kind of thing before?”

Reba watched the ingredients come together into a fluffy mixture in the bowl. “Not like this, no. I’ve done some light modelling in the past for Catwalk when they existed. Why do I feel like I’m under a microscope here? You’re trying to figure me out, aren’t you?”

She felt his gaze on her, so she looked up and met those searching dark brown eyes. “It’s what I do.”

“Well, don’t hot up your head about it. I’m not that complicated. Just different from what you’re used to, I suppose.”

He kept mixing and watching her with that intense gaze. He could keep trying to dissect her, but she wasn’t all that complex. Most people expected that what she showed them was an act. That she could be moulded into something more manageable. If they didn’t believe she was who she said she was, that wasn’t her problem.