It’s strange living in a world with my grandparents no longer in it. I didn’t talk to either of my grandparents often, but I still always considered us close. I just lost my last grandparent eight months ago, and it was hard. Not necessarily because she was the one I was closest to, but because an entire generation of my family tree is gone. I can no longer pick up the phone and call just to hear their voices.
Anyway… cookies.
Laiken stays where he is, watching me as I cream the butter and sugar together. I had the foresight to steal a couple sticks ofbutter last night and hid them in my bedroom. Yep, that would have been a strange conversation if one of my parents found two sticks of soft butter in my room. The questions they’d have… I almost snort just thinking about it.
My mother would probably be horrified.
While it’s creaming in the mixer, I use a sieve and run my flour and baking powder through it so there are no clumps. Back to the wet ingredients, I add the eggs, one at a time, and then the milk. Then it’s a slow incorporation of the dry.
“You just going to watch me?” I ask when Laiken hasn’t moved.
“I’m supervising.”
“I haven’t even turned the oven on yet.”
“Somehow, I think you can still manage to set a fire.”
I glare at him and say, “I can set a fire of a different kind, though.” It’s a lame attempt at flirting. I know that. I’ve said much smoother things in the past.
So why do I actually get a response from this one? Laiken answers, “I know you can.”
My eyes remain locked with his for a long few seconds as I determine whether he was answering my flirting or just pointing out that I’m likely to set a fire in the kitchen, even with a glass of water.
For the record, water can be burnt. Don’t ask me how I know.
I turn back to the dough because I don’t want to over-mix it. That’s bad. I wait for everything to just come together and begin pulling away from the side of the bowl before I turn off the mixer. I lay out a couple of silicone mats and work the dough until it’s a solid, smooth ball. After wrapping it in plastic, I stick it in the fridge to chill for an hour.
The trick to perfect shapes is using cold dough. That way, when it cooks, the shapes don’t spread. I’ll have some perfectly shaped cocks to eat, and I amherefor it.
I don’t bother washing the mixing bowl, instead moving on to the frosting. A bunch of sugar, cream of tartar, and hot water go into a pot over medium-high heat, and I stick in the candy thermometer to monitor while it cooks. It needs to reach exactly 226°F and then drop to 110°F before adding the vanilla and confectioner’s sugar.
Yes, it’s a precise process. While I’m waiting for it to melt and reach temp, I move around the kitchen. Set dirty things in the sink and set up the area for rolling out dough and getting the cookies in the oven. Then a station to let them cool. And finally, a frosting station.
I bet I can convince Laiken to help me frost dicks. The thought makes me smile.
Someday, I’m going to get some piping bags and learn to truly decorate cookies. That day is not today, though.
While I move around, I check the thermometer often. You can burn sugar very easily. I’ve learned that over the years. I’m not even going to count how many times I’ve burned sugar. Cleaning those pots is a kind of punishment all on its own.
I pull some utensils from the drawer. They get tangled and a wooden spoon goes flying. I bend over to pick it up, and from the corner of my eye, I see Laiken’s attention drop to my ass.
Because I can’t help myself, I ask, “You like what you see?”
“Everyone knows a full moon is beautiful,” he answers without missing a beat.
Oh my… did he just…
I get to my feet and meet his eyes. He doesn’t appear to have said those words. I imagined them. It was the blood rushing to my head as I bent to pick them up. Yep, that’s it. That’s what happened.
I search my brain for something sexy, full-moon related, and perhaps an innuendo, but come up short. I’m still a littleshocked. Words tumble from my mouth before I can think better of them, though. Because I don’t know how to shut up.
“Not everyone likes full moons,” I point out. “Some prefer…” Where the hell am I going with this?
“Ilovea nice full moon,” Laiken says, rescuing me from having to come up with something quippy. “There’s nothing better than a full moon. I could stare at the most perfect full moon for hours.”
Oh… holy fuck. Is he smooth or am I horny?
Silence fills the kitchen. Laiken doesn’t look away from me. His eyes remain locked with mine. Waiting for me to answer.
