Jack is silent, and his stoic expression tells me he’s not at all convinced by my words. I give him my most reassuring smile, because for once, I want to be alone.
For all my confidence in winning Rowan over, it’s still my first time making croissants. Or baking anything for that matter, but how hard can it be? I found a croissant recipe online that doesn’t need three days and actually seems doable. It’s probably still for the best if I don’t have an audience for this, though.
After pulling out the big guns, mentioning Jack’s granddaughter, he finally leaves. I return to my groceries and get started on decoding the recipe.
A couplehours later, and the recipe might as well be the world’s greatest mystery. The kitchen island is a mess of pieces of dough from failed attempts, and white powder, which Iswearisn’t cocaine, coats me and practically every inch of my kitchen.
It takes another couple of attempts before I finally get my dough looking similar to the picture in the recipe. All that’s left is to let it rest for a couple hours before it goes into the oven.
I clean up the kitchen as best as I can, though the place is definitely going to need a deep clean. By the time I cut and roll the tiny triangles into something that looks enough like a croissant, it’s the middle of the night. I’m exhausted, and they need to rest for another couple hours, so I promptly pass out on the couch and leave the rest for tomorrow.
I’m woken bright and early the next morning with an annoying finger in my face. I try to swat the disturbance away and roll over to return to sleep, but I should know my best friend better than that.
He’s not one to give up.
“Do you mind?” I growl out, then almost have a heart attack when I open my eyes to find Ray’s face inches from mine. “What the hell is your problem?”
I push him away, but Ray just brushes off my attack and straightens. “Just making sure you’re alive and someone didn’t body swap you,” he says and flicks imaginary dust off his shoulders.
“Like anyone can replicate my brand of awesomeness.” I gesture down my body.
Ray makes anoise through his nose that’s a mix between a snort and a laugh. He turns to the kitchen. “Wanna tell me how a hurricane ran through the kitchen?”
His question has me jumping up and running to where I left the croissants. They look a little moreswollenthan the pictures from the recipe, but it should be fine.
“NowImust be the one still sleeping. Why are you even in the kitchen?” Ray asks me and shakes his head.
“It’smykitchen. I can use it if I want.”
“But you can’t cook.”
“I can too!” I argue.
Ray’s look of skepticism says it all. I ignore him and place the tray into the oven, then set a timer.
Ray studies me. I refuse to meet his gaze and find a wet cloth to wipe the counters. Despite my attempts at cleaning last night, white powder—still not drugs!—clings to the surface. Who knew flour got everywhere?
Ray gives up on trying to figure me out and sighs. “I’ll call someone to clean up while you’re out. I have to run to the office really quickly, then pick up the outfit for your TV appearance tonight, so I ordered you breakfast. Linda will be here in a couple of hours, so don’t fall back to sleep,” he orders and looks around the kitchen again. “Please don’t burn the place down.”
“Why does everyone think I’ll do that!” I call at Ray’s departing figure. His reply is a wave over his shoulder as he enters the elevator.
He’s a jerk, but I’ll forgive him because he’s my best friend. And the dark circles under his eyes that now take up halfhis face are concerning. He has enough on his plate without having to deal with my messy emotions concerning my bodyguard.
I put my worries about Ray to the back of my mind. He can handle himself. Besides, the last time I suggested he rest, he looked like he was going to chew my head off, and I very much like my head where it is.
I quickly hop in the shower to wash away all the grime from yesterday’s kitchen battle, then wrap a towel around my waist and pad into my closet to grab my clothes. My phone’s alarm blares before I can get dressed, and I run downstairs to check on the croissants, then realize I didn’t prepare the oven mitts to grab the tray. I throw all the drawers open in hopes of finding them, and just when I do, my phone rings again.
It’s the lobby, and I’m thinking it’s the breakfast Ray ordered. I don’t think as I buzz them through, much more worried about burning my pastries than anything else.
I manage to get the croissants out of the oven before they burn to a crisp. Some of the ends are slightly charred, but I can just cut or tear them off. All in all, it’s a good first attempt, if I do say so myself!
I’m grinning widely and turn to place the tray on the island just when the elevator door opens and out comes Rowan.
“Rowan! You’re just in time!”
I’m pumped at my baking success and am excited to show it to him that I don’t think about anything else and run over to greet him. I completely forgot that I’m only in a towel and totally shouldn’t be running right now.
I make it halfway to him before the towel loosens from my waist and drops to the floor. Worst of all, my legs are faster than my senses, and my foot catches on the towel, and we all know how that goes.
