Testing Recipes for Disaster (Emberwood #2)

Chapter 18- Jeremy

I almost texted her to cancel four times that day. It didn’t help that I had the day off, and no one else I knew was around. I spent the morning with myself and my own thoughts; it was a blast.

I did call my mom to check in. This didn’t make the day more fun, but I felt like I’d put in effort in at least one area of my life. It had been over two years since I’d had anything stronger than a drink, but our relationship hadn’t recovered.

Yet.

I wasn’t ready to write off getting things back to some semblance of normal with my mother. When I was young, she had been my biggest fan, and I shattered that into a hundred pieces. It was hard to put those back together while also trying to put my life back together. But I thought it could be done. My dad? He wouldn’t even get on the phone with me, and he’d conveniently have to work the few times my mom and I met up for lunch or dinner.

I’d thought about scheduling a meetup for a midnight snack to see if he’d be more creative in his excuses, but I didn’t have the energy. Today, my mom had chatted with me about her garden and what they’d done for the Fourth. It almost felt like a normal conversation. Except for the fear on the edge of her voice when she asked me what I’d been up to. As though I might casually tell her I’d decided to throw away the last two years of rebuilding my life to do to a line.

Whatever. It’s progress .

All of that meant I was feeling like a fuck-up before I even got to Lauren’s door, and I had no idea how to act around her. My general plan was to pretend the hookup never happened. We were friends who casually flirted, and that was it. Except now, I knew what it was like to be with her in real life, and I wanted to kiss her as soon as she answered the door. I may not have been doing illegal drugs, but I was for damn sure developing an addiction.

Fuck .

I pulled up to her townhouse and grabbed the bags from my trunk. I figured if she was going to be cool about me baking over there, I might as well stock up and keep supplies in her pantry until she kicked me out. Because there was no way she had decent bakeware. Or maybe not any bakeware. Today, I was going to start working on cake flavors for Sam and Jesse to try for their main wedding cake, and I’d freeze squares of all the flavors to do the petit fours for the shower.

That’s perfect. Focus on the cake. Talk about cake. It’ll be great .

I set one of my bags down and knocked, my stomach doing some sort of calisthenics I had not authorized.

“Hey,” she offered when she opened the door.

Her eyes dropped to my very full bags.

“Are you planning to stay the week?” she asked, her voice slightly higher.

“Ah, sorry, I figured I’d bring everything rather than realize I needed something and not have it.” I shrugged.

She was in a sweatshirt and shorts, but it made me want to pull her into my lap and snuggle with her on the couch, and that was more dangerous than the want of kissing her. She shrugged back and turned, walking toward her kitchen. I assumed I was to follow. She watched me curiously as I started to unpack and set things on her counter.

“You know I have, like, cake pans, right?”

“Well, no, I did not know that. And I also need to make sure I use the same pans each time so I can recreate—”

She opened a drawer and pulled out almost an entire collection of aluminum bakeware—some from Sur La Table and others from Williams Sonoma.

“I have these,” she said, her brow raised.

“Why do you have these if you don’t bake?”

She was an enigma.

“I got them at several estate sales. I like nice things, Jer, and I don’t bake today , but you never know what my next project is going to be. I want to be prepared. You’re welcome to any of it. I’ll be over there, ignoring my stairwell.”

She gestured behind her to a now partially painted purple wall.

“I don’t think I’m going to ask. But if today isn’t good, I can come back—”

“Do your thing. It’s fine. I do get to try all the stuff, though, yes? Like, that’s part of the agreement?”

“Of course.”

She nodded and sidled away, plopping down on her couch and turning on the TV. That interaction was far too polite for my liking, but we did at least survive without anything supremely awkward happening. We also had addressed zero things about the elephant in the room, but I supposed he’d be there later. AC/DC was blasting in my earbuds, and I started measuring wet ingredients and got to work on a vanilla cake.

Once everything was mixed, in the pans, and in that beautiful oven, I looked over to see that Lauren was no longer on the couch. My gut tightened, and I wondered if that was because she knew I’d be able to talk while I waited for them to bake.

“Shit,” I said quietly.

We should have gotten this over with before. The night it happened even. This was torture. I started washing bowls and beaters when she re-entered the kitchen.

“It smells good.”

“Thanks.”

Her eyes narrowed at me, and I wondered if she was going to call out this ridiculous atmosphere where we couldn’t even have a conversation. Instead, she continued to her pantry and pulled out a package of strawberry Pop-Tarts.

“Do you want one?”

I shook my head.

“You’re going to eat that when I am going to offer you cake in about twenty minutes?”

“I fail to see how those two things are related. I will eat these now. Cake later.”

I laughed lightly.

“Okay, but those aren’t even good . You’re going to ruin your taste buds, and you won’t be able to fully experience the cake.”

“You shut your mouth in front of the Pop-Tarts!”

She gestured to the adjacent wall where her giant pastry art hung.

“Do they have ears?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“They have feelings , Jer.”

My shoulders tentatively relaxed; this felt like familiar territory.

“I’m sorry, I take it back.”

She shot me a side eye that said good call . While we were on this precarious ledge, I decided to jump off it.

“Laur...”

“Oh god, don’t.”

“Don’t what?!”

“Whatever you’re going to say. Stand there and look pretty and don’t talk, please.”

“I don’t know whether I’m offended or turned on, honestly.”

She glared at me. Hard.

“I know you want to talk. And I just don’t. Because nothing has changed about either of us since the Fourth. It’s awkward, but we’re going to have to get over it. Unless you have some epiphany to share with the class?”

“I... no. No epiphany to speak of.”

I didn’t know why the first emotion to work its way through my chest was disappointment. I knew I couldn’t offer her a relationship, and I should have been glad that she was willing to let the hookup be what it was, but I also hated it.

Do you want her to beg you to be someone you’re not? So, what, you can turn her down? That didn’t sit well, either. What are you doing ?

She nodded, a hardened look taking over her face, and took her Pop-Tarts back to the couch.

“Bring me cake when it’s done.”

I refocused my attention on cleaning everything up and leaving her kitchen as I’d found it.