“Wow.” She laughed, joining me at the counter. “You’re…surprisingly good at this.”
I lifted a shoulder but continued on with my prep. “Sometimes I help Asher when he bakes.”
“Really?” she asked, grabbing the mixer and preheating the oven.
“He’s so talented. And it’s fun watching him work,” I said, then winced. “At least—when he’s not yelling at you for not piping the pastries perfectly.”
She grinned at that, like she took a little pleasure in my pain. It made me wonder what gave Wren pleasure in the bedroom.
“His pastries are incredible. They’re like little works of art,” she said with a dreamy sigh. I made a mental note to pick some up for her next time I was near the winery where he worked. Or maybe I could ask him to bring a few extra on Friday. “Almosttoo pretty to eat. Which is why I always take a picture before devouring mine.”
“Have you ever considered branching off into food photography?” I asked.
She shook her head and started mixing the butter and sugar together. “I prefer humans. There’s a lot that goes into shooting food—more than people think.”
“Yeah?” I added the next ingredients to the bowl while she continued mixing. “Like what?”
“Well…did you know that sometimes they use a soldering iron to get the perfect ‘grill marks’?”
“Really?” I asked. She nodded, turning off the mixer. “Okay, now it says to split it into two bowls.” She set to work doing that, while I worked on the peanut butter mixture. “That sounds deceptive.”
“There are rules about it. Harper used to know a food photographer in LA, and she told me all about it. It was pretty fascinating.”
“I’ll bet.” I poured her mixture into another piping bag. “Ready to grease the cake tin?”
“Why doIhave to grease it?”
“Because…”
“Because it’s a sucky job.”
I laughed. “Well, yeah. But also…” I shrugged, holding up the piping bags. “My hands are kind of full.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. Because you can’t set them down for just a second.”
“I really can’t,” I deadpanned. “The mixture is perfect, and we wouldn’t want it to get all over the counter instead of in the pan.”
“You are so full of it. But fine, I’ll grease the pan ifyou’ll clean up.”
“Deal,” I said, knowing I would’ve insisted on doing it anyway.
She finished greasing the pan, then held out her hands, making a grabby motion. “Give me one of those.”
I handed her the chocolate piping bag, and we took turns piping the mixture in until it was full. Finally, the pan went into the oven, and she set the timer while I got started on the dishes.
She came to the sink, bumping me with her hip. “I was teasing about the dishes.”
I glanced down at her with a smile. “I wasn’t.”
“At least let me dry. Then we can start another episode while our cake bakes.”
“Or…you could work on the chocolate glaze while I clean up.”
She nodded slowly, backing away from me toward the pantry. “Yes. Yes. I like the way you think.”
By the time we were ready to sit down to watch the show again, the timer buzzed. The cake smelled amazing, and I imagined it would taste even better. Wren bent over to open the oven and pull out the cake, and my mouth watered at the sight. Forget the cake; I wanted her.
Her eyes gleamed as she looked upon the cake with desire. “I can’t wait to put this in my mouth.”
