They were staring at her intensely, expectantly. God, that poor girl didn’t even have a chance to explain herself when my guys and her best friend were waiting for an Oscar-worthy reply.
I leaned into her, ready to whisper in her ear, when I got distracted by her overwhelming perfume.
She smelled so delicate, like something floral, but I wasn’t good with naming flowers—it was probably a mix of a few floral notes. It was sweet and warm, deep and soft.
Would it have been strange if I asked her which perfume she was wearing?
Yes, definitely weird.
“You know what I think?” I asked her, whispering so nobody around us would hear. She nodded softly, but honestly, I wasn’t sure if it was just a reaction or if she truly wanted to know. Either way, I told her. “I don’t think you want to elevate your status at all. But I do think you look really hot in your dress, so my help isn’t even necessary to draw attention to you.”
I stepped back, winking at her before I turned around and walked away without giving Alana the chance to talk at all.
3
EDEN
“Okay, but if your dad’s a chef and your mom is, allegedly, the best baker in the world, how come you’re looking for someone to teach you?” Kaan asked, almost spilling his beer with all the hand gestures he was throwing my way. “I mean, can’t you just ask either of your parents to give you a recipe and instructions?”
For a moment, I wondered how we even got to this topic.
One second we were talking hockey stats and discussing strategies to win the game in Wisconsin next weekend. The next, I was asking my best friend if he knew someone who could bake, and if they’d teach me.
“I can’t actually tell you that.” The more people knew about what was happening, the higher the chances it was going to come out before my sister told anyone.
“Aw, come on, dude.” Kaan swung his arms around, spilling some of his beer onto the picnic table. “I’m your best friend. You know you can trust me when you’re in trouble. We’re brothers, man. I got your back.”
“It’s not aboutme,” I said.
“Okay? So? I won’t tell anyone.”
Kaan never told anyone anything before, so I knew I could trust him, but… it was Brooke’s news to share, not mine. But surely she wouldn’t have minded if I told Kaan, right? She knew Kaan.
Sighing, I looked around us to make sure we were far enough away from the next drunk people. “Brooke’s pregnant. She’s due in July, I think, so she’s planning to have her baby shower in late May when Reece is probably off from hockey. She wants tons of different cookies and cupcakes or otherfunstuff—whatever that’s supposed to mean—but refuses to go to a bakery, so someone else has to bake all that.”
“So, why not your mom?”
That was what I had asked Brooke when she told me about her pregnancy. “Mom doesn’t know Brooke’s pregnant yet… and she won’t know until Brooke’s about four months along, I believe. She said something about not wanting to disappoint everyone should any problems arise, which is bullshit because our parents would find out if she lost the baby either way. But whatever, it’s her decision. So, Mom won’t know until three months before the planned baby shower, and with her tight work schedule, Brooke’s afraid our mom would just overwork herself because she’d want everything to be perfect for Brooke and Reece. Then Brooke asked me to do it, but I didn’t have the guts to tell her that I can’t bake to save my life.”
I could cook because Dad taught me from a young age, but baking? So not for me.
The few times I did try to bake something, I burnt it, undercooked it, or it tasted like garbage. Cooking was far easier and didn’t need so much precision. I could throw stuff together and make it taste great—no recipe needed at all.
Baking required attention to detail and it was so hard to fix a mistake. And let’s not even get started about the wholedecorating process. I had zero talent for that. A recipe I could follow, but a talent for decorating wasn’t as easy to develop.
Kaan’s chest rose as he took a deep breath, blinking at me a couple of times as if he was waiting for me to tell him what to tell me.
“I could take classes, I suppose, but I don’t want to be in a stupid room with five or more other strangers, learning how not to suck,” I rambled on. “And if my parents find out I’m taking baking classes, they’ll get suspicious. Especially since I could’ve asked my mom to teach me. But if I ask my mom to teach me, she’ll still get suspicious because I’d never been interested in baking before.”
He nodded as if he understood a word I said. I was sure he didn’t. “The Devil can bake,” he said.
“Alana?” I questioned, just to be sure he wasn’t talking about the actual devil. Everything was possible with this guy.
“Yeah. Every time she comes over, she brings pastries. Sometimes cookies, too. They always look great, and they taste even better.”
“Hm…” I looked across the yard, my eyes finding her almost instantly.
Alana stood there with Asiya and a few guys, a red cup in her hands, talking, laughing, looking carefree and far less awkward than she’d been with me two hours ago.
