Don't Go Baking My Heart

He hadn’t taken any interest in the preparations, and there would be no children there tonight—one of the few things he had insisted on. Maxi’s babysitter would be watching Leah, so it wasn’t too farfetched to think Reba was bringing her brownies into the mix.

“Um, no, you’re making the desserts, remember? Or did you forget?”

Right, she had mentioned he should use the party as another anonymous tasting moment.

“You forgot,” she answered for him. “Let me in, please. I promise this is just an innocent baking-related visit.”

He didn’t care so much about Reba in his room a few days ago, but in the bright light of day, with his family downstairs, he hesitated. She claimed her visit was innocent, but he could never be sure with her.

Don’t put it all on her. You’re the one who keeps giving in.

That jolted him to action. He could, and would, control himself. He stepped back to let her in. She sat on the edge of his bed while he turned his chair from his desk, so it faced her—his small way of putting space between them. Otherwise, he might do something reckless.

She handed him the bag, waiting for him to take it. “Now, I remember someone questioning my skills not that long ago, and I thought how to say ‘fuck you’ in the nicest way possible.”

“I don’t understand.” Reba kept his head spinning in all directions.

“Because I had plans to see the fireworks show with my fam on Friday night, I thought Friday morning was ideal for a little baking challenge.” She gestured at the bag. “Open it.”

He had stayed clear of any Independence night activities. The fireworks show in the Savannah was a crowded affair, even more so than the amusement park, and he’d wanted no part of it. He’d been invited by his family, but Devon had declined, preferring to use his holiday to work.

He opened the bag and pulled out the clear container. He looked at what was inside, then back at her. “Did you really make this?”

“Because I knew your ass would be sceptical.” She held out her phone, showing him the paused video on the screen.

She pressed play, and Devon watched in awe at the time-lapsed version of Reba making the mini version of the Rubik’s Cube cake he held in his hand.

“You actually did it.”

“Of course, I did. I even had to do math; my brain still hurts.” She wrinkled her nose. “There’s a fork in the bag. Go ahead and try it.”

He opened the container to stare at the perfectly edible cube before reaching for the fork. It looked exactly like the real thing. He looked up at her. “It looks too perfect to eat.”

“You better eat it. Talking ‘bout it looks too perfect. Do you know what went into making this? And it’s a mini; the bigger cake’s gonna take way more work. Need me to entice you? It’s vanilla cake with a black chocolate ganache for the grid lines. I used a ruler and everything to make sure I was precise.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Eat the damn thing.”

Devon nearly laughed as she huffed at him. He didn’t think she’d appreciate it, so he dug into the cake, taking his first bite. It was delicious.

“It’s good,” he said, unable to resist teasing a bit after all. It was a foreign thing for him, this need to give as good as he got. Usually, he didn’t care to reciprocate, but her reactions were sort of endearing. That pout, especially. “Perhaps several mini versions would be more of a hit than one large version?”

“Nah, it’s easier to do this once with one big cake. It’ll still showcase the difficulty level. We can work on the minis first, so you get the basic steps down, if you want, then move up to the bigger version.”

That sounded logical. As impulsive as Reba was, when it came to baking, she clearly knew her shit, even if her methods were unorthodox and she refused to follow a recipe.

“I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“Thank you. I’ll admit, I didn’t know if I was going to just give up halfway, but look at those perfectly sexy lines. I did that.”

“You did.”

Devon was this close to saying to hell with everything and pulling her in for a kiss because, oddly, he was proud of her. She had made him eat his words, proven him wrong. Usually not something he enjoyed, but the way she was smiling made him want to smile back too.

Is that what happened after having sex with someone following his two-year dry spell? He didn’t know what to do with this rush of feelings. He rubbed at his chest, his heartbeat knocking against his palm.

“You okay over there, Superman? I know my hand sweet and all, but…” She cocked her head. “You’re looking a bit shell-shocked over there.”

“I’m good, really.” He dropped his hand to his lap.

“Hmm, I’m not so sure. Look, I know I play around a lot, but you can talk to me.”