Sure, things aren’t going perfectly with the whole gassy cat thing, but that’s life. And I’m nowhere near panic mode. Ifthisis all that goes wrong, I muse as Jude dries his hands and joins me at the mixing bowl. I’d say we got off pretty good. We’ve given the viewers a special guest, a good laugh,anda dang good cookie.
“We’re switching to the hand mixer now,” I tell him with a nod toward the appliance.
Jude claps his hands and rubs them together dramatically. He lifts the hand mixer in the air like a gun, straightens his arm before him, and gives the trigger a short tap.
The mixer gives out a jolting buzz, and Jinxy flinches in my arms. My nerves spike.
Jude gives the camera a smoldering glare. “Grab your mixers, boys and girls. It’s a mix-off in three, two, one.”
He shoves it into the bowl and pulls the lever. The second the whirling beaters scrape the glass with a shriek, Jinxy lets fly a terrifying squeal of his own. His body tenses, and though I try to secure my grasp, he shoots like a rocket toward the rafters.
The nimble cat lands upright on the metal track, then hisses at the mixer.
He slinks backward a step, causing a single bootie to fall from his foot and plunk right into the bowl.
My first instinct is to grab it before it’s sucked into the spinning madness. Jude’s instinct is different. Hand-mixing 101 says to never lift the beaters while they’re beating, but the footie in the frosting must freak Jude out enough that he forgets because he lifts them right out of the bowl while they whirl.
Frosting flies in every direction, thick wads of it thudding my arms, neck, and face.
Jude fumbles with the thing before managing to shut it off.
Stunned silence fills the space. Jude and I stare at each other. And then break into laughter.
“Whoa,” I say. “Who knew that frosting and felines were such foes?” I give myself a glance over. “I’m not sure who got the worst of it. My cohost, or me.”
I look up to see green goo splattered past Jude’s apron and onto his white button-up shirt. It’s in his hair, his ear, and slightly up his nose, too, but he’s too attractive to lose any points over it.
“I’d rightly guess it’s me,” Jude says, eyeing himself up and down.
But then my eyes are drawn to the whopper of all whoppers—a large, rather shapely figure plastered to his forehead.
“Hey,” I say, motioning for the camera to follow my lead. “Do you guys see what I see?”
“Oh no,” Jude says wearily. “What is it? My wig’s falling off, isn’t it?”
“You don’t wear a wig.” I close the gap between us, lock my gaze on his, and relish the amused spark that flashes through his eyes. He follows the movement of my hand as I reach up and secure a corner of the mass stuck to his skin.
Slowly, theatrically, I peel the saturated bootie off his forehead. A laugh sneaks up my throat as I dangle it before him.
Jude gasps. “I’ve been kicked in the head with a buttercream bootie!”
Jinxy meows, and I look up in time to see him spring toward me. I catch him in my arms and pull him to my chest. “Nice jump, Jinx,” I praise.
Jinxy blinks, meows, then starts licking frosting off my face.
“Maybe I was wrong about the feline-frosting clash,” I say, turning to give the camera a better angle.
“And there we have it,” Jude says. “Pistachio craze for the holidays. How does it taste, Jinxy boy?”
I laugh, moving my face as Jinxy’s tongue moves to my cheek. “I think he likes it. Keep in mind, friends,” I say, motioning to the finished product displayed on the counter. “Green makes the scene for a number of holidays. You can make these for Easter parties, St Patrick’s Day events…”
“Oh, and Halloween,” Jude says. “Top those babies with some purple and orange sprinkles.”
“Good thinking,” I agree. The red light above the camera is flashing, which means it’s time to wrap up. I grin, feeling accomplished; whether this was a winning audition or a total flop, I wouldn’t change a thing.
“Jude, thank you for joining us today,” I say. “I hope you guys enjoy this recipe. Be sure to let me know if you try it at home.” I move closer to Jude and lift Jinxy so he’s poised between us. “Let’s close it out together, shall we?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Jude says warmly.
