Hell, if she can get it together, so can I.
“While the yeast wakes up, we’ll add sugar.” I scoop it slowly and let it fall like sand. “Sugar isn’t just sweetness.” The words fight their way out, and I catch myself, silently chastising my own tongue. “It’s encouragement.”
I’m not feeling so encouraged right now. Instead, I’m convinced I’m about to ruin this class with my wandering mind.
When have I ever been this distracted during a good baking session?
I glance sideways even after I tell myself not to.
She’s staring at her bowl.
Just staring at it.
“Go on.” Her head whips up at my voice. “Sprinkle the sugar.”
Her fingers dip into the bowl beside her. Slow and uncertain. The motion stirs something in me.
Is this how it feels for them, watching me cook? This magnetic pull? This quiet desire?
“Good,” I murmur. “Now we wait.”
I move through the tables, checking the bowls and offering minor corrections.
Less stirring. More patience.
When I reach her, she’s waiting.
She shifts her back to Jaclyn and faces me. “Can we talk for a quick second?”
She wants to tell me I have the wrong suitcase. She’s panicking because of what’s in her suitcase. I should really say yes and tell her everything is okay. But then she might leave.
I’m not ready for her to leave.
“When we’re done.”
She frowns.
“After I hand out the goody bags.”
Her eyes grow wide, and before she can talk, I add, “Maybe you can help me hand them out.”
I pivot to leave, and her fingers close around my arm.
It’s instant heat. An instant reminder of earlier. A whisper that she doesn’t know who I am and how much I’m attracted to that.
The collective gasps tell her she’s crossed an unspoken line. I watch it play on her face before she retracts her arms just as fast.
“I think something is wrong with my—” She glances down at the bowl. “I’m not sure what we’re making, but it doesn’t look like hers.”
I lean in, close enough to smell her shampoo. It’s warm and sweet. Vanilla sweet.
I don’t touch the bowl. “It’s fine. Just shy.”
Her eyebrows knit together, and I see the smile she’s trying to hold back. “Just shy?”
For the first time, I think she’s relaxed, but maybe that’s because she thinks I’m unhinged.
“Baking’s a conversation. You listen more than you talk. Watch.” I take her hand and reach into the bowl.
