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‘Looking for something?’ Rufus asked, making her jump, and nearly topple off the crate she was using as a makeshift step stool.
‘Mince pies,’ she said, still making a mental inventory of what was on the shelves, sure that she must just be missing them somewhere. ‘I know Lara wouldn’t have forgotten.’
‘Ah. She didn’t.’ He stepped into the pantry and squeezed behind her. She pressed herself against the shelf, trying to stop his body brushing against hers, but the sudden movement set her off balance again, and she fell back against him, just for long enough for his hands to rest on her hips to steady her.
‘Sorry,’ he said, snatching back his hands as soon as she had regained her balance. ‘I should have realised there wasn’t enough room.’
‘Easily done.’
Jess tried to brush off the feel of his body against hers, but found that she couldn’t do it quite so easily. She stepped back into the doorway of the pantry while Rufus scanned the shelves, until he pulled down a jar with a triumphant hurrah.
‘Mincemeat,’ Jess said, eyeing it dubiously. ‘Don’t tell me I’m expected to DIY them.’
Rufus scoffed. ‘Oh, come on. Everyone can make a mince pie.’
‘Not me.’ She shook her head, but Rufus looked at her with patent disbelief.
‘But you’re a scientist!’
She laughed. ‘You seem to have a very poor understanding of what a scientist does. I can confirm that at no point in my academic career have I been called on to bake.’
‘Then I guess I’m going to have to teach you.’
‘I’m unteachable. Many have tried.’
He smirked. Smug. ‘Did they have a Michelin star?’
Jess rolled her eyes. ‘Always with the trump card. Come on, then, do your worst. It’ll make good content, if nothing else,’ she added, trying to remember that when it came down to it, theirs was a business relationship. But Rufus stiffened at the word ‘content’ and she knew she’d said the wrong thing.
‘I just meant...’
‘It’s fine. I know what you meant.’
There was no point trying to backtrack, not when she could see how tense his shoulders were. How set his expression. She’d have to show him, not tell him, that she understood that his childhood home was more than just a pretty backdrop.
‘Okay, what else do we need?’ she asked. If they were going to bake she was at least going to pretend to be enthusiastic. ‘Even I can guess that flour is on the list.’
They grabbed ingredients as he reeled off a pastry recipe and carried them all to the marble section of the worktop. To keep the pastry cool—she had the theory of baking down. It was the practical that she’d always failed.
She concentrated on rubbing butter into flour, aware of Rufus vaguely watching her from the side. When she had the breadcrumb texture she knew she was meant to be looking for, she turned to ask Rufus if it was done, but he opened his mouth to speak at the same time.
‘I’m sorry for snapping.’
‘It’s fine. I understand why you did. I know how you feel about this place.’
‘But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. That looks good,’ he added, nodding at her mixing bowl. ‘You can add the egg, and it might need some cold water but go steady. You don’t want it sticky.’
Jess followed his instructions with a hefty dose of scepticism. She’d lost count of the number of times that Lara had tried to override her genetic inability to bake and had been left aghast at their joint failure. But Rufus was turning out perfect circles of pastry lids to cover the neat spoonfuls of mincemeat filling, and then cutting delicate holly leaves to decorate the tops. Really, he was too much.
She stood back for a moment and watched him work, absorbed in placing tiny holly leaves on the top of each pie, positioning them with an exactitude she saved for her lab work, before looking over the whole batch and tweaking a leaf here and there.
‘I think...’ she started, not sure how she was going to square this skill with what she knew of Rufus. All this...and he could bake. ‘I think they’re remarkable.’
Rufus laughed and Jess felt the tension leach from her shoulders as the last of the atmosphere dissolved.
‘I think you’re easily impressed.’
She looked at her own batch of pies—which were, despite her best efforts, rather raggedy-looking—and shook her head.
