Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JACKO
The dressing room smells like that godawful body spray Murphy still insists on using. I’m untying my skates when he claps his hands together, loud enough to make Ollie flinch.
“All right, guys,” Murphy grins, flushed from the post-training skate. “Baby shower’s officially on. Saturday afternoon at the bistro on the high street. Sophie says no excuses, even from you losers.”
“Can we bring gifts shaped like boobs?” Ollie asks, deadpan.
“Only if they’re mine,” Murphy fires back.
Everyone groans. Ollie throws a roll of tape at his head.
“I’m not coming unless there’s cake,” The rookie pipes up from his corner.
Murphy points at me. “Already handled. This guy’s making gender reveal cupcakes. Which, by the way,” he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small, sealed envelope, “contains the magic answer. Don’t open it till you bake, Big Man.”
I take the envelope like it’s something fragile. Thin and harmless-looking, but it makes my chest warm. Trust. That’s what Murphy’s giving me.
“Don’t mess it up,” he says, mock-serious. “If I bite into something blue when it’s a girl, Sophie will castrate me. And probably you.”
“Can’t wait,” I mutter, but I slide the envelope into my backpack like its gold.
“So, who else is invited?” I ask.
“The whole team,” Murphy shrugs. “Our families. Sophie invited the girls from the office, too.”
“You bringing your mystery bakery girlfriend?” Ollie pipes up, all too casual.
I lift a brow. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Yet,” Dylan grins.
“She’s got a kid,” I say, just to shut them up.
Murphy squints. “Lila, right? Kid’s obsessed with you.”
“She’s three, almost four,” I deadpan. “Still got better taste than half of this locker room.”
Jacko: 1. Team: 0.
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. After training, I shoot Maya a quick text.
JACKO: Got baking supplies. Can I swing by in an hour?
She replies almost immediately.
MAYA: Yep. Kitchen’s clean. Lila’s in a sugar coma from leftover pastries. Bring your bear paws.
God help me, I read it three times before I realise, she’s flirting.
When I knock, Maya’s already pulling open the door barefoot, and something about it hits me right in the ribs.
“Nice apron,” I say, nodding to the faded Star Baker one tied around her waist.
She smirks. “It’s Lila’s. But it was clean and I didn’t feel like wrestling mine out of the laundry pile. Get in here.”
I do, slipping off my boots by the door and setting the envelope on the counter like it’s sacred.
Maya raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“That’s the envelope that tells me whether we’re doing pink or blue reveal cupcakes. Murphy said I’m not allowed to mess it up or Sophie’ll kill us both.”
“I’m already picturing her wielding a rolling pin,” she says, opening the fridge. “Want tea?”
“Only if you’re having one.”
She gives me that quiet little nod and starts the kettle, moving easily around the kitchen like she’s more relaxed than usual.
The radio’s on low. There’s half a batch of chocolate sponge cooling on the wire rack, and Lila’s voice floats faintly from the living room; something about unicorns and pirates.
“I told her you were coming,” Maya says, glancing over her shoulder. “She wants to put glitter in the batter.”
“Sounds like a sound strategy.”
“Oh, totally. Nothing says ‘gender reveal’ like edible craft supplies.”
I grin, pulling out the list I scribbled after training. “So, we’re thinking filled cupcakes, right? One bite tells you everything?”
She leans over my shoulder to read the list, and suddenly her arm brushes mine, warm and close. I don’t move. I can smell the faint citrus in her shampoo.
“Coloured filling inside plain sponge?” she muses.
“Too boring.”
“What if we dye the whole cake base? Like… pastel pink or blue sponge, matching icing, filled with something soft. Cream cheese maybe?”
I nod. “Can swirl the batter before baking. Looks pretty when they bite in.”
“And we top with?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Tiny fondant bears.”
She laughs, and it’s that low, rich sound I don’t hear enough. “You really do lean into the bear thing.”
“You named me that.”
“Lila named you that.”
“Close enough.”
She’s still close when she lifts her chin, eyes playful. “Fondant bears sound cute. If you can pull it off.”
“Are you challenging me?”
Her eyes sparkle. “I’m just saying, if your fondant skills are anything like your skating skills, we’re doomed.”
I blink. “I lead the league in fights and muffins.”
“And yet, you still fall over your own skates.”
“That’s called flair,” I say, deadpan. “Try to keep up.”
Maya bites her lip like she’s holding back a laugh. Or something else.
I clear my throat. “I got invited to Murphy and Sophie’s shower, obviously.”
She nods, wiping her hands. “Yeah. You mentioned. When is it?”
“Saturday.”
She hums like she’s thinking about her schedule.
“I want you to come,” I say. “Both of you.”
She goes still. Not closed off. Just surprised.
“You want me to bring Lila to your teammate’s baby shower?” she says slowly.
“They’ll love her.”
“Won’t it be weird?”
“No,” I say, firm. “Murphy asked me today if you’d come. He told Sophie about you both. Said Lila should meet the team.”
Maya softens. “She’ll love that.”
“You too.”
She snorts. “You just want backup.”
“Always,” I admit.
She shakes her head, but the smile is shy. “I’ll think about it.”
We start mixing the batter, the envelope still untouched on the counter. She tells me about her bakery class this morning, a kid who dumped a full bag of flour on the floor just to make snow angels. I tell her about Murphy’s attempt to eat a protein bar mid-scrimmage and nearly choking to death.
By the time we open the envelope together, both of us standing side-by-side, elbows touching, Maya looks at me like she trusts me with it. Like she trusts me, full stop.
I don’t read it out loud. Just nod, and she grins.
“Right,” she says. “Let’s get baking.”
We whip through two trays of cupcakes, swirling the batter with food dye, keeping it light and fun. Lila wanders in halfway through and insists on taste-testing the icing. Maya lets her lick the spoon, then shoos her off to get ready for bed.
We don’t talk while we pipe the icing. We don’t need to. It’s easy. Like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“Y’know,” Maya says finally, licking a smudge of icing off her thumb, “this is weirdly hot.”
I blink. “What is?”
“Watching you pipe perfect buttercream like its life or death. Very serious. Very sexy.”
I smirk. “I take my baking seriously.”
“Clearly.”
She’s still licking her fingers and smiling at me with a little tilt to her head, and something in my chest tightens. She’s playing with me. And enjoying it.
“So…” she says, stepping closer, “do you flirt like this with everyone you bake with?”
“No,” I murmur. “Just you.”
She blinks. Then says, “Good answer.”
Lila’s yawning by the time the last tray cools. Maya tucks her in while I start cleaning up, wiping down counters and boxing up the cupcakes for the fridge.
She comes back into the kitchen, barefoot again, ponytail falling loose, and it does something dangerous to me.
“Lila’s out cold,” she says, watching me rinse the bowls.
“She did good. Head pastry assistant.”
“She loves it when you’re here.”
I glance at her. “You okay with that?”
“I think I am.”
She crosses the kitchen slowly, until she’s standing just behind me. Her hand brushes my arm, deliberate now. Not accidental. Not tentative.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” she says.
“Me too.”
“You make this feel easy.”
“That’s the idea.”
She leans against the counter beside me, not moving away. We stand like that for a long moment; quiet, close, charged.
Then she says, low and warm, “Do you want to stay for tea?”
I glance toward the hallway where Lila’s bedroom is. “She’s asleep?”
“Out like a light.”
My hands are still in the sink. Hers are warm on the counter. We’re a breath apart.
I look at her. “Tea, huh?”
Her smile turns wicked. “Well. That’s what we’ll call it.”
And just like that, something shifts between us, like the last barrier has fallen.
I dry my hands, heart thudding, and say, “I’d love to stay for tea.”