He got a mug down for her and poured her a cup of coffee from the pot that was already half empty.
“Got milk and sugar.”
“Thanks. Black is fine.” She knew he wouldn’t have her usual sugar substitute and in her estimation, milk was pointless in coffee. She took a sip. It was strong, also not a surprise. “All right if I unpack my stuff?”
“Yup.”
She got that done, laying things out the same way he had and in the same order so she’d be ready to go. Ingredients on oneside, measuring cups and spoons on the other, along with the two round baking pans, a spatula and a sturdy wooden spoon that had once belonged to her grandmother. Her mixing bowl was in the middle. She took another sip of coffee. “Ready. What’s first?”
Brick was setting the oven temperature. Beau sat at her feet, watching like a small, adorable judge. No doubt hoping earnestly that something yummy would make its way to the floor.
Brick came back to the counter. “Pans first. Butter and flour.”
She watched him use his fingers to coat his first pan with a pat of butter. He wiped what was left into the second pan and did it again, then wiped his hands on a paper towel and added a spoonful of flour to each pan. He shook the flour around like he was panning for gold. When he was done, both pans were evenly coated.
She copied him, showing him the pans when she was done.
“Good.”
She smiled as she got his approval. “Next?”
Brick put two sticks of butter in front of her. “Butter. Room temp. Yours isn’t.”
“No, it is not.” She’d give him two sticks of what she’d brought, so they were even. “We just used butter so these sticks go in the bowl, right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
She’d figured as much but he was making her nervous. She unwrapped them, plopped them into the bowl, and then looked around for the garbage. She found it. A white plastic bin with a lever to step on and open the top. She dropped the wrappers in. “What’s next?”
“Sugar,” Brick said, opening the canister on his side of the counter. “One-and-three-quarter cups.”
She measured in her sugar.
“Now cream together.” He moved his bowl to the stand mixer.
She had a spoon. When she picked it up, he grunted. She looked at him. “Not with a spoon?”
He patted the top of the machine. “Mixer’s better.”
She put the spoon down. “As you can see, I don’t have one.”
“Use this one.” He gave her a look, that semi-patient one she was learning meantobviously.
They got the butter and sugar creamed together until it was, as Brick succinctly put it, “Fluffy.” They’d also added the eggs, a dash of coconut extract, and a cup of coconut milk, leaving them with a pale-yellow mixture that looked way too runny to turn into cake.
“Now flour,” he said. “Two cups.”
That made sense. She knew there had to be more to it. “Exactly two cups? Just making sure.”
He nodded.
“Right. Two cups. Easy enough.” She opened her small bag of flour, and dipped in the measuring cup, spilling a little on the counter. “Oops. A domestic goddess I am not.”
Brick grunted. It might have been a laugh. Hard to tell.
She sprinkled the second cup over her batter. “Okay, what next?”
That turned out to be baking powder. After that was added she looked at him again.
