Hunter was a handsome guy and, as such, could get away with baking something that looked and tasted like roadkill, and everyone would pat him on the head and tell him it was cute that he tried. I was a woman. People would expect me not just to be able to bake but to bake well. Everyone expected me to win because girls baked and boys caught frogs. Sugar and spice and everything nice, right?
Except that while I loved to eat, I wasn’t exactly the baker in the family.
“No,” Hazel barked as I broke another egg yolk. “You need to scoop it out gently.”
“Can’t I use one of those cooking gadget things?”
My sister raised an eyebrow. “You mean like those little Japanese silicon ducks that suck up the egg?”
I nodded hopefully.
“No,” she said, rapping my knuckles. “They break the yolk and never even work. You need to be competent.”
“Do you think the bake-off dessert will be something easy?”
“I bet it’s not,” Minnie said as she ate the unburned part of my attempt at caramel.
“I can make cupcakes and brownies from a box. Maybe I can sneak a boxed mix with me.”
“Baking goddess,” Hazel said, raising her hands. “Please help my sister, for she hath not any cooking skills!”
“I’m a takeout and heat-up-a-frozen-pizza type of person,” I reminded her. “I lived in New York City for years. I never had any practice in a real kitchen. My last apartment had a hot plate, a toaster oven, and a microwave.”
“It’s sad,” Rose said, “because you spent all that money on fancy cooking equipment.”
“I liked the way it looked,” I said. “Ugh, Hunter is going to beat me.”
“They aren’t going to ask you to make anything too hard, surely,” Hazel said, frowning as she sampled my latest attempt at coconut cream pie.
I stole a swig of the cognac I was supposed to be putting in my cream filling. “With the way my life is going, I wouldn’t count on it.”
* * *
The contest was BYOBE,or bring your own baking equipment. I had my box of pretty but hardly used kitchen appliances, all in a blush pink. I also had more items at the house that I hadn’t been able to grab. The form to the bank still hadn’t been processed, and I was unable to retrieve the rest of my belongings.
Hunter grabbed the box from me, or tried to.
“Why didn’t you return my calls last night?” he demanded in a low voice.
“I’m in the baking zone,” I whispered back, “not the get-my-brains-fucked-out zone.”
“You can multitask,” he insisted. “I’d fuck you while you were making cupcakes.”
“And that might end up being on my Ways to Fuck Hunter list,” I said, “but I’m not making cupcakes right now. I’m winning a bake-off.”
“You have a list of ways you want to fuck me?” Hunter said, incredulous, finally wresting my box away from me.
“Maybe,” I said.
“What else is on it?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Is it weird? It’s something weird, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I’d fuck you if you were wearing a giant hot dog costume.”
“It’s not a costume.”
“I’ll come clean your apartment then fuck you,” he offered.
