Don't Go Baking My Heart
“You’re definitely not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
Reba nodded. “I know, so thanks.”
Reba turned off the mixer—whoops, that had been running too long—dipped a finger in the batter and tasted it. “That’s good. For once, just let things be. I’m not a problem to be solved.” She dipped her finger in the batter again, bringing it up to his mouth this time. “Taste?”
“That’s a bad idea. I do that, and then what? We carry on like I didn’t have your finger in my mouth?”
“Bad ideas are some of the best ideas.” She waved her finger around. “And yes, you don’t need to make a production out of everything or over-analyse it. Sometimes you just wanna suck another person’s finger into your mouth, and that’s it.”
He leaned forward, and she thought he was actually, for once, going to give in. Instead, he looked her right in the eye and asked, “But would that be it in this case?”
It could if they both decided, but Reba tried not to lie to herself or others if she could help it. If Devon did this, she wasn’t leaving it at that. She was too revved up. She sucked her batter-covered finger into her mouth and licked away anything that remained on her lips.
“No, it wouldn’t be it.”
“Then I can’t.”
“Won’t. There’s a difference. You can do anything you want. You’re in control of your reactions.” She shrugged. “But you won’t.”
“You’re like fucking kryptonite.” He held up his hand before she could reply to that. “Don’t. I didn’t mean…just…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not a word. I need sleep, and I need this to be done with.”
“Okay, Superman. Even though you just said your armour was all sturdy and shit, but I’ll leave it be for now.” Reba pulled the mixing bowl over to her side, suppressing her smile. Oh, she was so winning this bet. “Put the star tip nozzle on the bag, and let’s see if the batter is fine for piping.”
For once, she wasn’t so certain. Eyeballing it, the batter looked like it wouldn’t give too much trouble when placed in the piping bag, but she had gotten too caught up in her back and forth with Devon. Now, it was anyone’s guess if this would be the right consistency. Dammit. If she failed at this, Devon would definitely take note.
“You’re not going to be on my ass about saying that?”
She shrugged as he scooped batter from the bowl and placed it in the piping bag. “Nope. I’ve been called worse. Plus…” She grinned. “You just admitted you’re affected by my presence, so that’s gonna sustain me for the rest of the day.”
The long sigh he was in the midst of releasing died away as she took his hand, showing him how to squeeze the bag to make the desired cookie shape.
“You can do different shapes and designs. Don’t think about it too hard.”
“I watched some videos, so I have an idea of the shape I want.”
She made a zig-zag motion with the bag. Perfect, the batter was coming out easily. “Go wild, Superman. They don’t all have to be a round shape. C’mon, you can do it. Just this once.”
His hands tightened on hers as he tried to stop her from making a long-shaped cookie. “A circle is fine.”
“Look, we can do those, but get creative with it too.” She tried to yank the bag from him, but he was insisting. Were they really about to scrabble over some goddamn cookies because Devon couldn’t just let go and not follow a plan? Hell no. She released the bag just as he moved to pull it from her, so of course, the thing went flying across the kitchen.
They both watched as the batter-filled bag hit the fridge then slid down to the floor.
Reba pursed her lips. “Can’t you just follow my lead? It’s what you signed up for.”
“Technically, none of us signed anything, which thinking about it now, we probably should have.” He pointed to the tray. “What is this shape even supposed to be?”
Living a fun-shine life was Reba’s motto, but damn if Devon wasn’t testing even her usual cheerful demeanour. Men who didn’t listen to her were super annoying. Definitely a top peeve.
Reba grabbed the front of his t-shirt and dragged his face down to hers. “Just listen to me for once, goddammit.”
His nostrils flared, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “And if I don’t?”
Reba narrowed her eyes. “Then you’re going to lose the bake-off.”
“Hmm.” He looked down at the portion of his t-shirt she had bunched up in her hand. “You’re wrinkling my shirt.”
“Well, frankly, my dear, I don’t give a fuck.”