Part 15 (1/2)

I lifted my chin. ”Nothing, I guess. You're right. We're all adults.” I glanced at the flowers hanging limp by his side. ”Are those for me?”

Kai looked distractedly toward where my eyes had landed. ”What? Oh. Yes. I picked them from my backyard.” He sounded irritated that he even had a backyard.

I took them from his hand and pulled his other arm around me. ”Thank you,” I said, standing close to his solid warmth. ”I'm kind of disgusted that you are more domestic than I am and able to grow flowers, but I'm also really happy you picked them for me.”

Kai leaned into me and kissed me, hard and long on my mouth. When he came up for air, I thought I saw a glint of triumph in his eyes. ”The woman who lived in the house before me planted them. I can't really take any credit.” He grinned and pulled me to him again. ”But I'll take the credit any way. And another kiss.”

”Seems like fair payment,” I murmured. His touch was softer now, sweeter, lingering. He gathered me into his arms, and I rested my face against his neck. I breathed in his smell, scrubbed clean and with a touch of cologne.

”I missed you this week,” he said into my hair.

”Me, too,” I said and felt an instant tinge of guilt. In truth, though I had thought about Kai often, I had been running hard and fast all week. Missing him had become a victim of my things-to-worry-about list, and I felt bad about that.

He pulled away. I couldn't read his expression. ”I'd love to stand here and hold you for another six hours or so, but I should probably head to work in about an hour. Suns.h.i.+ne is starting to weary of my sudden disappearances.”

”I'll bet,” I said. Reluctant, but knowing Kai was right to remind me of the time, I returned to the kitchen in search of a second vase. I tried to be discreet as I pushed Avery's gargantuan flower arrangement into a corner. ”I hope you aren't telling her you're coming to see me every time you skip out and leave her to run things on her own.”

”Of course I tell her,” Kai said, an edge creeping back into his voice. ”I have nothing to hide.”

I paused, my hands hovering above Kai's flowers. ”I didn't mean to imply that you did,” I said slowly. I matched the intensity of his gaze. ”Kai, are we talking about me here, or you?”

He gripped the stool in front of him but didn't sit down. ”Sorry. I guess I'm not over it. I think it's weird that you and Avery were hanging out in your apartment. There. I said it.” His eyes stayed fixed on mine.

I shoved the flowers into the vase too roughly and two daisy stems broke in half. Sweeping them up with my hands, I said, ”Kai, there is absolutely nothing going on between me and Avery. You know that.”

He shook his head. ”I can't really know that, though, right?” He joined me behind the counter and started scrubbing his hands with a healthy lather of soap.

I punched numbers on the double ovens and set them humming to life. ”Yes, you can know that,” I said, starting to retrieve dry ingredients. ”You know that because I have told you. That should be enough.”

”Listen,” he said while opening each cupboard in turn. ”It's not just Avery. It's the distance.”

”What distance?” I said, exasperated. ”And stop slamming doors. The mixing bowls are in the lower cupboard to the right of the oven.”

”Thank you,” Kai barked. ”I'm not talking about physical distance. I'm talking about emotional distance.”

”Oh, come on,” I said. I was weighing flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt on my counter scale. ”You sound like Oprah.”

Kai turned to me abruptly. ”That's low. Do not compare me to Oprah just because you can't handle an honest conversation. I am nothing like Oprah.”

I pursed my lips but felt laughter rise dangerously within. ”You did use the phrase 'your best life' with me once.”

He looked indignant. ”I did not. I don't even understand what that means!” He jabbed at the air with my whisk, the other hand gripping a Pyrex measuring cup.

Laughter, a hard and snorty one, escaped my lips. It filled the kitchen with my gasps, all the louder in Kai's silence. When I'd regained enough control to have only a few hiccups left, I padded over to Kai, who had turned his back to me and was whisking egg whites with a vengeance.

”I'm sorry,” I said, wrapping my arms around him and trying to force him to stop with the b.l.o.o.d.y whisking. He was doing it far too violently. I definitely needed to be in charge of the whisking. ”I didn't mean to laugh at you.” I hiccupped once and winced.

He sighed and, thank G.o.d, put down the whisk. Turning a tight circle to face me without breaking my grip, he studied my face. ”I don't like Avery.”

I nodded. ”I know.”

”And I'm p.i.s.sed he gets to spend so much time with you.”

I smiled. ”Thanks.”

”And I hate your nondisclosure form and that you can tell him stuff you can't tell me.”

”Me, too.”

”And I'm really proud of you and that people want you on their TV show because you're awesome.”

I felt The Splotch making its presence known.

”And I'm very, very ready for you to have a break from the show so we can figure out our normal without Avery Michaels popping his head between us every forty-five seconds.”

My sigh came out in a rush. ”Yes, yes, and yes. I want that, too.”

He paused a minute, appearing to search my eyes for the answer to a question he wasn't asking. ”Okay,” he said, brus.h.i.+ng a strand of hair away from my forehead. ”That's all I needed to know.” He slapped my rear, hard, as if we were getting ready to go out there and crush the Badgers' offense. ”Now let's make some cupcakes.” He clapped once and nudged me gently away. ”I need s.p.a.ce to whisk.”

”No, you really don't,” I said and commandeered his weapon. ”You can fill the cupcake liners.”

He scoffed. ”Cupcake liners? Are you even kidding me? Woman, I own my own diner. I know how to make a cake.”

I rolled my eyes. ”Listen, if you are really attentive and you do everything perfectly, I might let you whip the b.u.t.tercream. But only if you promise not to do something weird and diner-y, like crumbling a slice of crispy bacon on top or something.”

He stopped moving. After a moment of silence, he spoke. ”That,” he said, ”is brilliant.”

I groaned. ”This is never going to work,” I said. I watched him search my fridge for bacon, listened to him threaten to go to the store (really quick!) to pick up a pound, and laughed at his sales pitch.

”Seriously,” I said again. ”This project is doomed.”

”No!” he retorted, fist in the air. ”This, my dear girl, is the perfect example of your 'best life'! Bacon cupcakes are definitely the best of both our lives put together and then cranked up sixty notches.”

I shook my head and laughed at him, betting the cupcakes would not turn out well and hoping our relations.h.i.+p had much better odds.

20.

THE dining room at Thrill still s.h.i.+mmered with light, though all the customers had long ago abandoned their clean plates, their soft linens, their empty gla.s.ses. The room radiated calm, a delicious irony since the ten hours before the night's end were nothing short of controlled chaos. Standing on weary feet in the middle of the room, I took stock of the day.

I'd had to leave my apartment in disarray after baking cupcakes with Kai, and I cringed to remember the mess that would greet me when I returned home. The cupcakes were finished. Odd but finished.

Kai had won his argument with the bacon, but I conceded only to a monastic crumble of extracrispy bits, as underdone bacon would have violated every personal code I maintained. I forced him to make his own frosting and to include a maple accent, and the bacon/maple combo could only be used on half of the batch. The others, all mine, turned out beautifully and as previously discussed with Manda: strawberry-raspberry cakes with a light and airy lime frosting. I would garnish with a single perfect raspberry right before the party.

Kai was inappropriately confident about his creations, sure they would win the vote he was now prepared to initiate come party time. Honestly, if the man hadn't been so ridiculously good-looking, I would have held fast to my rule never to allow the bacon trend to infect my kitchen. The guy looked amazing in jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt, and suddenly I'm allowing pork products on my cupcakes? Would the real Charlie Garrett please show herself?