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The morning passes pleasantly, Hank and I working along as we chat idly. He really is the sweetest man, and the more he talks about his grandkids, the more I want to meet them. When I finally finish with all the vegetables, placing the tubs in one of the giant refrigerators, I peruse the kitchen for my next task.

“You got that done in record time,” Hank says. “Usually takes the teens a bit longer.” Hankglances around. “Don’t have any dishes yet since lunch hasn’t happened …”

I zero in on some flour in the corner—a few bags of it. They look out of place. “You ever bake for the guys?” I gesture to it.

Hank throws his head back and laughs. “Nah, I can make a mean stew, but when it comes to cakes and brownies? Might as well skip it.”

I cock my head, glancing at a stack of baking sheets. “Want me to try something?”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “You a baker?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “But it’d be fun to try. Unless you’ve got other things you need from me,” I add hastily.

Hank waves at me. “Oh, please go ahead. I was ‘bout to send you home for the day anyway with nothin’ else to do around here. Can’t help you with it, though. Don’t know a thing about baked goods.”

Suddenly feeling a sense of confidence, despite the fact that I’ve never really baked anything, I pull out my phone. “I’m sure I can figure it out,” I say with a grin.

After scrolling through a few easy baked good recipes on my phone, I land on muffins. They seem simple enough—plus, easy to divvy up between people. Then I’m gathering ingredients, mixing, second-guessing, and trying my best to make something edible.

Hank gives words of encouragement along the way—usually little quips that make me laugh. And even though I feel out of my element, there’s still that prevailing feeling of calm. Like I’m simply just … existing. Doing something that doesn’t have high stakes.

And I’m loving it.

When the timer dings and I pull out the first batch of muffins, laughter erupts through the kitchen.

“They look a little deflated,” I say with feigned despair, setting themon a rack to cool.

Hank approaches, chuckling. “What matters is the taste, not the looks.” He grabs a fork, digs out a small bite, blows on it a few times, and then pops it in his mouth. He nods, smiling slowly then swallowing. “It’s good.”

A glimmer of pride surges through me, and I squeal, grabbing a fork of my own to taste. And sure enough, the chocolate chip muffin tastes like a regular chocolate chip muffin. “I’ll work on my artistic techniques later,” I say.

The sound of the kitchen door swinging open behind us grabs my attention, along with a voice muttering, “What are those?”

I twirl around, my gaze colliding with Cruz’s. He’s standing in the doorway in dusty jeans and a t-shirt, that cowboy hat of his perched atop his head like always. Surprise flashes across his face when he recognizes me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks stiffly.

I swallow. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Lunch.”

Oh.

“Addison here’s helping me out this morning,” Hank says with a wide smile and a clap on the back. “And she’s made muffins. Eat one, Cruz!” he orders before turning to grab a large pot off the stove and carry it out into the mess hall. I can already hear more arrivals.

Cruz shoves his hands in his pockets, taking a step into the kitchen. This is the first time I’ve seen him since the panic attack, and I try my hardest to think about anything other than that fact.

“You’re baking.” He raises an eyebrow, approaching the tray of half-collapsed muffins. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk when he lays eyes on them. My earlier confidence falls just a notch. “They look … professional.”

“At least I’m trying,” I snap before I can stop myself. “Not all of us were born knowinghow to be useful.”

I spin on my heel, about to storm off to who knows where, when a gentle hand is laid on my upper arm, stopping me.

“Whoa, Addison,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I’m kidding.”

The tension suddenly breaks as realization washes over me. My shoulders relax just a bit. “Oh.”

“Here,” he says, reaching for one. He unwraps the side and takes a bite. Chocolate smudges his lip, and I find myself staring at it until it’s licked away a few seconds later. “It’s the best muffin I’ve ever had,” he says with a grin.