Chapter 24
Ethan
‘Shit shit shit shit shit!’
When Mia walks into the kitchen, I’m standing on the table, apron over my shorts and bare chest, smothering the smoke alarm with my T-shirt.
Even with her earbuds in, I know she can hear it.
The damn thing is blaring so loud, I’m surprised I haven’t gone deaf already.
When it stops, cutting out mid-screech, she pops out one earbud and looks at me with alarm.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
One hand still covering the alarm on the ceiling, the other awkwardly propped against my hip, I give her a grin which is not returned.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Cooking,’ I tell her, tentatively uncovering the alarm while she opens the window, a gust of smoke blowing outside.
‘No one cooks—’
‘In the kitchens, I know.’
Hopping down from the table I move over to the oven and beg the ghosts of my ancestors to pull off some kind of miracle, otherwise I’m about to completely humiliate myself.
Opening the door lets out a whoosh of steam but thankfully no more smoke.
That’s reserved for the smouldering mess on the stovetop.
‘But the ref doesn’t have my Southern specialities,’ I say as I slip on an oven glove and pull out a baking sheet of not especially impressive but still identifiable buttermilk biscuits, as made by me.
‘You did not!’ She yanks the earbuds out of her ears as she flies across the room to inspect my handiwork. ‘Ethan! You baked biscuits?’
‘Sure did,’ I confirm. ‘Now can I put them down? This baking tray is hot as fuck and these gloves are not capable of doing the job they were designed for.’
‘Can I?’ Mia’s eyes are big and blue as her fingers hover over the biscuits, still steaming and possibly scorching a hole through the kitchen counter.
‘You can but wait, you need the honey butter.’
I pull a small pot from the refrigerator, take a couple of the biscuits from the tray and place them on a plate before presenting it to her.
‘Miss Meyers,’ I say, pulling out a chair for her to sit at the table.
‘I can’t believe you did this.’
She’s tearing into the biscuit like she’s never eaten one before in her life, pulling the thing apart then slathering it in butter, and I am way too excited to see it separate so cleanly.
Whatever I did this time, worked. Hopefully she won’t look in the trash and see my first two attempts.
I didn’t know you could fuck up baking a biscuit, but it turns out you really can.
‘I tried to make grape jelly but that is way more complicated than you would think.’ I glance over at the pot on the stove, accepting defeat. It’s going straight in the trash along with my shitty failed biscuits. ‘You know they don’t sell it here? I got strawberry from the store but no grape.’
‘Strawberry is good. Gimme.’
The noise she makes while my back is turned is so sexual, I have to stay halfway crouched when I bring the jelly to the table. The look on Mia’s face, the way her eyes almost roll back in her head as she licks the honey butter from her fingers, is pure filth. Even if she doesn’t know it.
‘You just made a huge mistake,’ she says as I take the seat across from her and grab a biscuit from the plate.
‘I did?’
‘Uh-huh. You should never have revealed your secret baking skills. Anytime I’m homesick, I’m going to be knocking on your door.’
‘You can knock on my door any time you like.’ I groan out loud as I take a bite of my biscuit. ‘Goddamn, that’s good. Go me.’
Nodding with enthusiastic agreement, she pushes the honey butter and jelly towards me. I take the jelly.
‘How come you didn’t mention you’re a star baker when we were talking yesterday?’
‘Because I didn’t know until today,’ I admit, piling it on. ‘But like they say, there’s a first time for everything.’
‘You’re wasted on the soccer team and I say that with all due respect for your skills on the field.’
She’s almost done with the first biscuit when I realize she’s staring at my chest.
‘Good thing I picked up the apron when I went to the store.’
I dust myself down, trying to wipe a smear of batter away but somehow making it worse.
Now it looks like I shot all over myself.
Which I did, this morning, when I was thinking about Mia wearing my jacket the night before, the jacket she still has, but obviously I’ve cleaned up since then.
Showered, shaved, and a little light manscaping because you never know.
I even cleaned my room and bought a fancy candle at the store.
It might not be super masculine behaviour, but one thing I took away from my relationship with Breanna, candles are fucking awesome.
They smell great and they set the mood. It honestly makes me kind of sad how easy it can be to impress women sometimes.
They deserve better. Ninety-nine per cent of guys can’t even cross the lowest bar.
After staring at me long enough for her cheeks to turn pink, Mia looks away, breaking off a piece of biscuit and slowly bringing it to her lips.
‘Alice said she invited you to the picnic today.’
‘She did. You have a good time?’
She nods. ‘You should’ve come along.’
Spooning out the strawberry jelly, I scrunch up my face at the thought.
‘Didn’t want to make things weird, I don’t really know those guys.’
‘You know Michael, he’s on your team. And Alice and Jenna are in your psych class.’
‘It was just the four of you?’
Mia grabs a paper napkin from the middle of the table and wipes the honey butter from her fingers but it doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about licking them clean.
‘And Oliver.’
I think we both know why I wasn’t at the picnic, even if Mia is pretending she doesn’t.
‘Taking notes or training to be a super spy?’ I ask, nodding to the pocket tape recorder on the table.
She wrinkles her nose into an adorable frown. ‘It’s a loaner. I was listening to a song.’
‘What song?’
‘You won’t know it, my, um, friend wrote it.’
From the way she’s being so evasive, I have to guess she’s talking about the douche in the leather jacket.
‘Is it good?’
No answer.
‘It’s … better than I could do,’ she says eventually. ‘Kind of not what I expected.’
One corner of my mouth turns up in a smirk and I know it’s petty, but I can’t help myself.
He wrote her a shitty song. I made her world-class biscuits.
I win this round. At least, I think I do.
Fuck. Mia hasn’t only got me out here baking, she’s got me second-guessing myself.
This is so much more serious than I’m ready to admit.
‘What are your plans for the rest of the night?’ I ask, leaning backwards to grab another biscuit from the baking tray, casually showing off my biceps at the same time. I am for sure in better shape than that ass clown. ‘Is there a big birthday extravaganza over at Members?’
‘Not quite.’ Her face suddenly turns downcast and she checks her watch. ‘I have a ton of work to do and I need to call my folks.’
‘That’s it? On your birthday? Mia, it’s only—’ I look up at the clock on the wall and realize I have been in this damn kitchen for hours. ‘It’s not even seven p.m.. You can’t call your birthday before midnight, not even on a school night.’
Her smile returns, a smaller shadow of its former self, but she’s resolute.
‘I don’t think Dr Quinn takes birthdays into account when he’s grading papers,’ she says, pushing her chair back from the table, ‘I have to get a good grade on this paper and Bleak House isn’t getting any shorter.’
‘Doesn’t sound like it’s gonna get any more fun, either.’
‘It’s not exactly known for its laughs.’
‘We could study together,’ I suggest. ‘You can tell me about your book. Sometimes talking about stuff helps me make sense out of it.’
An incredulous look lights her up. ‘You want to listen to me yammer on about a Dickens novel?’
Pressing my hands against my heart, I gasp, wounded. ‘You don’t have to sound so surprised. I love to read when I have the time. Maybe not Dickens, but if George R. R. Martin doesn’t drop Winds of Winter soon, I’m gonna have to start writing fanfic. Again.’
‘Sorry to have misjudged you but I study better alone.’ She stands up and looks around the apocalyptic mess in the kitchen. ‘Thank you for this. It really means a lot.’
‘Sure thing. Let’s be real, it worked out for me too. We both have biscuits now.’
‘Not if I take them into my room and house every single one of them.’
‘Hey, it’s your birthday,’ I say as she wraps a single biscuit in a napkin. ‘If you get bored of your bleak book, I’ll be in my room, watching a movie. After I clean up this mess.’
‘Bleak House. And thanks, but—’
‘You gotta work and call your folks,’ I finish for her, trying not to concentrate on the curve of her body silhouetted against the white kitchen wall. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’
The words linger in the air between us. Why would she need me? Not possible. My only real hope is that she might want me.
‘Don’t eat all the biscuits or you’ll be back on baking duty tomorrow,’ she warns before leaving me alone to clean up my mess.