I side-eyed Sebastian. “This is your box, isn’t it?”
“I told you. It’s my mom’s.”
“The flour is open, baller.”
“Fine. It’s mine.” He turned around with his hands on his hips. “I bake. Is that a problem?”
I stared at him for a moment.
Then I burst out laughing.
“This was a terrible idea,” he muttered.
“Are you kidding? This is the best thing ever!” I laughed, leaning on the huge island where he was dicing garlic.
“I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“What do you mean? You baking cookies has to be the best thought that’s entered my head all day.”
He paused in his dicing and peered up at me. “Really? Everything we’ve done today, and that’s what gets you?”
“Do you have a little apron?”
“Holley.”
“Well? Do you? If not, can I buy you one for Christmas?”
“I regret this wholeheartedly.”
“Me coming here or admitting that you bake cookies?”
“It’s not something I do a lot,” he said, returning to his garlic. “I used to bake with my grandma, and she passed some recipes down. I usually only do it for family stuff like Thanksgiving or Christmas or something. I don’t have a lot of time for it.”
I put my forearms on the counter overhang and grinned. “How did I never know that?”
“It’s not something I broadcast.”
“Should I be doing the lasagna while you do the brownies, or…?”
He tossed the garlic in the pan with the ground beef. “Go and bake your brownies, Holley, before I change my mind about having you as my dinner date.”
“Dinner date, eh? I knew you had ulterior motives here.”
“Me? Surely not.”
“Mhmm.” I pulled all the baking stuff to the island and set out what I needed. “Where are your scales?”
He pointed to the cabinet behind me. Thankfully, these were easier to find than the actual box had been. I pulled them out and set them done, then went hunting through all his other cabinets for mixing bowls.
“Weren’t you just telling me this week to get out of your cabinets?”
“Yes, but you were being nosy,” I said with my head stuck halfway into one corner cabinet. “I actually need things.”
“What could you possibly need that means half your body is inside a cabinet and your ass is in the air?”
“Is it a problem?”
“Is what a problem? The fact your ass is in the air in the middle of my kitchen?”
“If that’s the one you wanna go for, sure.” I moved to the next cabinet and repeated my position.
“The only problem is that you’re doing it while still wearing pants.”
“I’m not sure stripping in your kitchen is a good idea.”
“Really? I can’t think of a better one.”
I snorted, and the jerk my body made meant I hit my head on the cabinet frame. “Ouch!”
“Oh, for God’s sake. The mixing bowls are in the cabinet next to the sink.”
I got up. “That’s the other side of the kitchen!”
“And? That’s where the pans are.”
“Your stove is over there!” I pointed to the glass-topped stove. “Why is your kitchen such a mess? Nothing is where it should be. Next you’ll be telling me your plates are in your laundry room.”
“I don’t mean to be a jerk,” Seb said, lips twitching. “But this neurotic organization thing you have going on is going me so much material to work with.”
“I’m not neurotic,” I replied. “And if being organized is a crime, then you can shoot me.”
“You are neurotic. Just a little bit. It’s quite endearing, actually.” He tipped a jar of sauce into the pan.
“Neurotic is not endearing.”
“Well, you make it look cute.”
“I’m not a bunny rabbit.”
“I don’t like rabbits. Their ears are weird.”
“Yeah, and I’m the strange one,” I muttered. “What material are you getting to work with?”
“I wondered when you’d give up arguing and finally ask that.” He stirred the meat mixture and used a small spoon to taste the sauce. “I’m having the time of my life. I mean, you’re dying to get your hands on those boxes in my garage—”
Just a little bit.
“—And my kitchen is driving you absolutely insane.”
More than a little bit.
“I just can’t wait until you see my closet.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, but I do think I can use all this to my advantage.”
“How can you use this to your advantage?”
“I’ll let you reorganize my kitchen if we can talk about what’s going on here.”
“Ooh, that’s mean.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I don’t think I want to see your closet. Or your bathroom. Or anything else. I can only imagine how else you’ll blackmail me into doing what you want.”
He looked up from the pan and met my eyes. A knowing, almost dirty smirk had his lips curved in a sexy way. “Oh, trust me. It’ll be good for you, too.”
“I don’t agree to any of this. It’s fine. I don’t have to live here. I don’t even have to come back here ever again. Ever,” I added one more time for emphasis. “You have your pans by your sink on the opposite side to your stove. You keep your mixing bowls and your scales in totally different places, and—why on Earth are you getting black pepper from the fridge?”