“Take off the jacket.” I gesture at his fancy outer layer. Obediently, Rupert unbuttons the overcoat and takes it off, leaving a button-up underneath. Then I reach up and flingthe neck of the apron over his head, just barely managing to get it over the pointy tops of his horns.
“Now turn around,” I order.
When he shows me his back, I wrap the apron around him and tie it just above his tail. I almost want to stroke that tail, to see what it feels like as his fur gives way to scales, but I resist.
Rupert watches silently, arms tucked behind him as I measure out the flour, sugar, butter, and vanilla. First, I get the butter whipping, mixing in the sugar slowly, and explain each step as I go.
“The texture is different if you melt the butter. That gives you a crunchier cookie, but I like them soft.”
“I do, too,” Rupert says, and when I look up, I find him riveted on my face. “I much prefer them soft.”
I don’t really think he’s talking about cookies, but I continue. I pick up the plastic container full of flour.
“We just need a cup and a half of this?—”
My hands are slippery from the butter, and the container slips right out of my slick palms as I gesture with them. It goes careening to the ground, ready to smash and burst open…
But Rupert dives for it, catching it before it hits. The impact in his hands is still great, though, making the pressurized lid fly right off the top, sending flour catapulting through the air in every direction. It covers me where I stand with my hands out, and Rupert, now on the floor, is holding a half-full container of flour. It’s all over his face, caught in his hair, and covering his nice clothes.
“Rupert!” I bend down to help him get back up. “I’m so sorry!”
When he’s on his feet again, Rupert takes in the sight of me and snorts, sounding rather like an animal.
“You’re covered in flour,” he says, smirking as he brushes the tip of his finger over my nose, taking flour away with it.
In return, I reach up and wipe his nose with my finger, too, smearing the flour even worse across his face. “Oops, looks like you got some here, too.”
I hold in a laugh at how ridiculous he looks, just the top of him coated in a fine layer of white dust.
Rupert smirks down at me. “Did you get it all?”
“I think so.”
I grab a towel and wipe off my face, which succeeds in mostly removing it from my cheeks and forehead but leaving a fine dusting in my hair. Rupert has even less luck, given how much of his body is covered in fur, and I giggle as he valiantly tries to clean himself off.
Still both frosted with flour, we go back to our lesson and work over the mixer until the dough is ready. Then I scoop some out for each of us before putting the bowl in the fridge.
“What’s this?” Rupert asks, eyeballing the two spoonfuls of raw cookie dough.
“You’ve never had cookie dough?” I shake my head, appalled. “Well, you’re really not supposed to eat it, with the uncooked flour and eggs and everything, but fuck it.” I scrape off half the dough on my spoon with my teeth and swallow it. “It’s delicious.”
Curious and a little wary, Rupert picks up his spoon. His big tongue shoots out to lick it, and his eyes go big.
“Oh, I get it.” He turns to me, amazement on his face. “That’s better than the actual cookie.”
I throw up my hands. “Right?!”
We sit at the counter and chat amiably while the dough firms in the fridge and the oven heats up. Then we get to scooping the dough onto cookie sheets, and Rupert insists on measuring each one precisely so they’ll all come out thesame size. I show him how to space them apart, and we put two sheets in the top oven, then two more in the bottom one.
“Who’s going to eat all these?” Rupert asks once we’ve used up the last crumb of dough.
“Me, of course.” I mime shoving my face full of warm, gooey cookies. “All of them. Only for me.”
Rupert chuckles. “I guess I’ll take the scraps, then. And none for Kellen.”
“None for Kellen.”
When the oven timer beeps, it feels like no time at all has gone by. We pull the trays out and let them cool on the stovetop, continuing our conversation about the science of baking while we wait.
