She turned back to her mixing. Maybe it hadn’t been about family and friends in the past, but this was her new life. Free of her judgmental father and his miserable, frowning face. She’d celebrate the way she had always wanted to. With lots of lights, decorations, and friends, new and old.
“Here you go.” He set a steaming mug to her left, far enough to be out of the way, close enough to reach.
“Thank you. Although I think that’s my job,” she teased. “I appreciate you pouring.” She lifted the heavy glass bowl into her arms and began beating the batter with a wooden spoon.
“Wouldn’t that be easier with a mixer?” He rested his backside against the counter beside her and looked at her, his brows pinched together. “There’s a reason why they use them on those baking reality shows.”
“I love those! It would be easier, but there’s something satisfying about doing it by hand. Besides, it’s a good arm workout. Plus, those mixers are brutally expensive.”
“True. I looked at buying one but backed away when I saw the price.” His deep laugh reverberated through her, lodging in her heart.
“What would you need one for?” She set the bowl on the counter and started dropping muffin papers in the tins.
“Are you kidding? I make the best chocolate lava cake on the planet. And my apple pie is to die for. I can give you lessons if you want.”
Laughter bubbled out of her, leaving her breathless.
“Why is that so funny?” Zane raised one eyebrow and frowned. The twitching of his lip in a hint of a smile ruined the attempt at seriousness.
“Nothing really. The idea of you baking startled me. I don’t know a single man who bakes. I get it, most of the world’s top chefs are men. At least it seems that way. I just didn’t picture you as a baker.” Was he pulling her leg? Clara couldn’t tell.
“I am deeply offended.” Once he stopped laughing, he sipped his coffee. “There’s a precision in baking that appeals to me. I am quite talented in the kitchen. Following a recipe is a lot like building a puzzle.”
“Fine. Tomorrow, you bake pies and show me how good you are. Pie crust is the one baking task I never mastered. It always comes out tough.”
“You’ve got a deal.” He offered his hand, and they shook.
Shivers of heat raced up her arm. His large hand dwarfed her small one. She swallowed to moisten her suddenly dry throat. The man packed a wallop. She popped the muffins into the oven and tidied up her mess as they chatted.
“Do you need help to bring the decorations out?”
“You seem to keep forgetting you’re a guest here, not my personal servant.” She grinned. “It’s sweet of you to offer, but I can handle it.”
He frowned. “I don’t mind. I’m sure you have a million chores to do around here. I was trying to help.”
“Zane, really. I’m good. If I need an extra pair of hands, you’re the first person I’ll ask.” Great, now she sounded stubborn. Not her intention. It was difficult to maintain the host-guest dynamic when he was so friendly. In another world, she’d be one hundred percent into developing their friendship and taking him up on his generous offer. Now, it seemed important to hold her ground and keep her independence.
If Zane lived in Coyote Creek, she could easily see herself falling for him. As an out-of-town guest, she had no intention of letting him get close to her.
