He’s overreacting. I look around. There is just a little flour on the counter and some on my clothes. A spatter of batter on the floor and… on the wall? How did it even get there?
I still roll my eyes. “I made seven-step simple chocolate muffins. Skip them if you’d rather just complain,” I say.
He raises his palms placatingly. “Let’s not be hasty. I was just surprised,” he says, picking a muffin from the tray and taking the biggest bite. “Fuck, this is good.”
I smile down at the batter. “I made dog ones for Mickey, too,” I point at the other tray on the counter. Had to look that recipe up.Yourbakingqueen777didn’t specialize in canine confectionery.
Nicholas stares at me while inhaling his second muffin. “I’m surprised you like to bake,” he comments.
“Tried it for the first time today,” I tell him, soaking in the compliment, hoping against all odds that my face isn’t blotchy and red under the batter and flour.
His eyes go worryingly wide. He takes another bite. “Wow.”
“I might try cupcakes tomorrow,” I tell him proudly. Turnsout there are other things that take up a lot of time and make me happy. The world doesn’t look as boring anymore.
Chapter Twenty Three
New Challenges, New Turns, and New Domesticity
Elliot
Somewhere along the way, leaving Mickey at my house became a thing. At least, for the last two weeks. I don’t even try to pretend I’m bothered by it because Mickey is great company. I've been experimenting with dog cookie recipes on him, and he never complains. Gobbles up everything, with enthusiasm even.
And I get this regular opportunity of guilting Nicholas into cooking me dinner. With all the time I've spent baking lately, I've thought about trying my hand at cooking a few times. I summarily dismissed those thoughts as unnecessary since I can have Nicholas or Oliver make me a nice home-cooked meal whenever I want. I doubt I even need to tack on the guilt. That’s more of a personal choice for fun.
Nicholas left Sunday morning for a weekend shift, this time dropping Mickey at Oliver’s because he had made a lot of complaints about the lack of Mickey time. I use the time to try out something I've been planning for a while.
They said I should give it time. It’s impossible to get it right so early into this. But to the haters, I say, you don’t know me if you think I’m not going to immediately turn a hobby into a competitive sport and try the hardest thing it has tooffer.
So, here I am. My croissant dough is all ready and chilled overnight. Turns out it’s possible to take weekends off and have a life outside of work if you have a long enough recipe to try.
This dough kept me busy the entire day yesterday, between fucking, hearing Nicholas complain about the lack of baked goods despite me spending so much time in the kitchen, and him boasting about how cooking is so much better and quicker, until I threatened to revoke croissant's rights if he didn’t shut up.
I hold the ruler and the pizza cutter with precision, leaning into the counter, my dough spread out, smelling heavenly. No Nicholas around to distract me with bitching and/or abs. He is very competent at weaponizing both. I’ve been lucky enough to see him in action.
The measurements have been marked. It’s rolling time.
I smoothly cut the dough into perfect triangles and rolled them.Suck it, useless blogs.
***
The croissants disappear quickly. My fault for bringing them to the clinic. I suspect Ashley is responsible for the majority of missing cases.
“The croissants were heavenly. But when are you making the brownies again? I swear they gave me orgasms,” Natalie tells me on her way out, her Shih Tzu trotting happily behind her.
I smile at Natalie, then glare at Ashley after she leaves. “How did Natalie get the croissantsandbrownies?” I whisper to Ashley.
“Why are you whispering? She’s already gone,” she says in a normal voice.
I roll my eyes and go back into my office for lunch. Too bad Nicholas isn’t coming in today. He missedNatagain.
After work, I drive to Nicholas’s to deliver the croissants as promised in exchange for shutting his mouth. He texted half an hour ago that he was back home.
The door opens as soon as I knock.Fuckingwerewolf hearing.
He’s still dressed in his work clothes, a blue shirt that I’m sure was crisp at some point, now just clings to him like a second skin, and black jeans that make his ass look mouthwatering. Not that I can see right now. But I want to.Fuck, I want to.
He looks at me, then down at the tupperware. Then at me again. He snatches the tupperware, drops it on the table next to the door, and pulls me in. His mouth descends on mine, swallowing my complaints.
