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"Garbage cookies," Simon said immediately, with a grin.
"I doubt you'll have the ingredients for it," I replied. "Actually, I'm not sure what we can make with the stuff we bought last Saturday, since a lot of it might not be good anymore like the chicken."
Simon smirked and swept his hand to indicate the plastic bags on the counter. I looked inside and saw they were filled with flour, vanilla extract, chocolate chips, pretzels and a vast assortment of other baking goods.
I raised my eyebrow, surveying the groceries. "Are you planning on opening up a bakery?"
"Nah, I just picked up some stuff. I didn't know what to buy so I just looked up five different cookie recipes and just bought all the ingredients they listed. We had already gotten some of the stuff last week, like the milk and eggs."
"So I guess my coming over was a foregone conclusion," I retorted, but unable to suppress a smile.
Simon shrugged. "Let's just say I hoped."
I laughed and starting pulling out the equipment that I needed to make the cookies. Simon leaned on the counter watching me.
"So the first thing we need to do is preheat the oven to 350 degrees," I lectured in my best professorial tone. "You never want to put anything into a cold oven."
Simon gave me a wry smile. "I guess you're taking this teaching thing to heart. I feel like I should be taking notes or something."
I raised an eyebrow. "That would be a smart thing to do. That way you can make them anytime you want."
"But then I won't have an excuse to ask you to come over."
I gave him my best scathing look. "Exactly. This is a cooking lesson. The point is to learn how to make it yourself."
Simon tapped the side of his head with a finger, giving me a mischievous smile. "I'll keep it all right here, babe. I've got close to a photographic memory."
I rolled my eyes as I grabbed a carton of eggs and butter from the fridge, unwrapping two sticks of butter and placing them on a plate. "Your talents just don't stop, do they?"
Simon grinned suggestively. "You have no idea."
I burst out laughing. I could deal with this Simon. The funny lighthearted Simon who made jokes and was content to keep things easy.
"Okay, back to business." I stuck the plate of butter in the microwave. "You need to cream the butter, but the butter needs to be at room temperature to be able to do that. Since the butter's been in the fridge, you can just put it in the microwave at half-power for a minute and it'll be just right."
Simon brought his hands up to his face as if he were holding a camera and blinked his eyes, making a clicking noise like the shutter was going off. "Got it."
I snorted at his antics. I grabbed the brown sugar I had seen in one of the plastic bags and the white sugar we had bought last week from the cupboard. Since we had previously put the groceries away together, I knew where everything was. It was a little disconcerting to feel so comfortable in his kitchen, not having to ask where anything was. Disconcerting but pleasurable. I pushed away the thought of whether Samantha had any intimate knowledge of Simon's apartment. None
of my business.
Simon leaned back on the counter, watching me measure out the sugars. "Are you wearing a costume on Saturday?"
"No way," I said, wrinkling my nose. "Not my thing. I don't need everyone looking at me. You?"
"I hadn't given it much thought," Simon replied. "Grant was trying to convince me and Marcus to go as ZZ Top, but I'm not sure I can wear a scratchy fake beard all night."
I grinned. "I could see that. You should totally do it."
Simon shrugged noncommittally. "We'll see."
The microwave beeped that it was done and I took the plate out. "Okay, next you dump the butter and both the sugars in a bowl and whip it until it's light and creamy." I grabbed the handheld mixer we had bought last week from the cupboard and creamed everything together. I looked up to catch Simon watching me instead of the bowl. "Pay attention," I said sternly, pointing to the mixture in the bowl.
Simon nodded with a thoughtful look. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Not wanting to know what he had been about to say, I filled the silence with my instruction. "Now we add two eggs, one at a time." I looked at him. "Can you crack eggs?"
"Luckily I'm a master egg cracker," Simon joked, reaching for the carton I had taken out earlier. He cracked one egg and waited while I whipped it into the mixture. "Is there a reason you never want to be the center of attention?"
I concentrated on making sure that the egg was well incorporated. It was hard getting used to the personal questions Simon threw out with no warning. "Not really," I replied, measuring my words carefully. "I'm just more comfortable not being in the spotlight." I looked up at him with a wry smile. "Not everyone can be a rock star." I didn't explain that my father's constant criticism growing up, combined with the visions that had almost debilitated me at one point, were enough for me to retract behind a wall that I only allowed a select few to breach. I wasn't sure if Simon was going to be one of them. "Okay, next egg."
