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“Here we go,” Landon said, setting her phone on the ledge and swiping his from the counter.
He looked at the camera. “First thing, preheat the oven to three seventy-five.”
“On it,” she sang, skipping across the kitchen to tap her favorite oven. “Next.”
“Cream the sugar and the butter. But the butter needs to be soft,” Landon read, grinning ear to ear. His joy rays positively lit up the space.
She retrieved the two sticks of butter, then banged them on the counter, doing a little drum solo. “They’re pretty stiff.”
He bit back a grin, and she struggled to keep a straight face.
She stared at the sticks. “How soft is soft when it comes to butter?”
The man cringed. “I don’t know.”
But the microwave knew. It whispered to her in a husky rasp.
I can soften your butter, Harper.
When did the appliances become so intuitive?
She dashed across the kitchen, grabbed a bowl, then unwrapped the sticks of butter and plopped them in. “I’ll microwave them for a minute. No, I’ll do two minutes to make sure they’re super soft.” She concentrated on the keypad. “You know what to do, don’t you?”
“Who are you talking to, bonbon?” Landon asked.
“Myself,” she answered, tossing the microwave a wink, then glided to the box. She eyed the lollipops scattered among the ingredients. She plucked another cherry one from the bottom and held it up. “Do you want one? There are a bunch in here.”
He waved her off. “No, I’m good.”
“And these are so good,” she crowed, working on lollipop number four when the timer beeped. It was her buddy, the microwave. She twirled across the floor, retrieved the bowl, and stared at the butter. She frowned. The butter no longer looked like butter. “It’s pretty liquidy.”
“The recipe says to make sure it’s softened. What could be softer than liquid?” Landon replied.
This would be a great time to get some input from their baking coach.
She peered past Landon into the living room. They weren’t about to get any expert advice. With his hands folded on his belly, Schuman dozed peacefully.
Liquid butter it was, and the microwave wouldn’t do her wrong.
In all the years she’d lived in this house, she’d never experienced the sheer power of the kitchen.
Following Landon’s directions, she busted out Babs’ mixer. Like two baking machines, they creamed the butter and sugar, added the vanilla extract and the eggs, then whipped it up. Incorporating the flour, baking soda, and salt, she had a good feeling—a really good feeling.
She hummed and twirled. The room swayed and breathed along with her.
“What next?” she asked, staring at the dough.
“We need to form it into a ball, wrap it in plastic, then pop it in the fridge for an hour.” He frowned and checked the clock. “We’ve got less than an hour before the challenge ends.”
And that’s when the next appliance sent her a secret.
I’m here, and I’m so very cold.
“Freezer, fifteen minutes,” she exclaimed.
Landon flashed her that pop star smile. “Works for me.”
She grabbed the plastic wrap from the box and tossed it to him. The man scooped the dough from the mixing bowl, formed it into a ball, and wrapped the shit out of it.
