by Rexi Lake
“Here,” Tucker pulled her into a hug before putting a piece of paper in front of her.
“What’s this?” she asked, resting her head on his chest.
“The numbers and ingredients for Grandma’s recipe. We’ve got nine and a half cups of apples. What else do we need?”
“Uh, flour.” She frowned at the paper. “Eleven and seven-eighths cups.”
“Okay, I’ll measure that out while you figure out the rest of the calculations. Then you can do the measuring,” Tucker instructed.
He grabbed the container of flour that was on the pantry shelves. He was glad he knew where Lola kept things stocked. He’d never cooked or baked in the kitchen, but he’d kept the woman company enough times that he felt comfortable with where things were. He measured out the flour into a separate bowl, then he tossed on the oven to three hundred and fifty degrees to let it preheat.
“All right, baby. What’s next?” he asked. “We need to mix the dry ingredients together first.”
She frowned down at the recipe. “Eleven and seven-eighths cups of oats.”
Tucker handed her the measuring cup and pointed to the container of oats he’d brought over with the flour. “Just dump it right in with the flour,” he told her.
She dipped the measuring cup into the container and he stopped her just before she dumped a heaping scoop of the oats into the mixture. “Not like that, baby. You have to scrape off the excess on top. You want the measurements to be even. If you have it rounded on the top like that, it will be too much.”
“Oh.” She blushed. “I didn’t consider that.”
“You’re learning, Red. Here,” he took a spatula from a drawer and showed her how to level off the measuring cup.
She added the rest of the eleven cups with ease. “How do you do seven-eighths?” she asked.
“More math,” he told her. “Here’s a quarter measuring cup. How many of those are in seven-eighths?”
“Three.” She measured three-quarters into the bowl. “And the last eighth?” she asked.
“Two tablespoons are in an eighth of a cup.” He handed her the tablespoon measuring spoon and she added two of those. “What’s next?”
“Uh, cinnamon? Nine and a half teaspoons.” She looked up at him.
“Three teaspoons to a tablespoon,” he told her.
“So three tablespoons and half a teaspoon of cinnamon.” She held up the tablespoon she still held.
He nodded. “I’ll put these back and grab the cinnamon for you.” He returned a few moments later with the next few ingredients he knew were on the list. Silently, he thanked his grandmother and mother for doing the same thing with him as a boy so many afternoons. He knew the recipe by heart because of those times together.
She took the cinnamon from him and measured it out. When she finished she looked back at the recipe he’d quickly jotted out while she finished her apple. “Baking soda? Four and three quarters teaspoons. One and a half tablespoons and a quarter teaspoon.”
He handed her the rest of the measuring spoons so she could use the ones she needed.
“Two and three-eighths teaspoons of salt.” She measured out a half tablespoon and then a half teaspoon. “So I still need three-eighths. How can I do that? There isn’t an eighth teaspoon here.”
“Measure a half and knock a little bit out. We’ll have to eye this one a little bit.”
She bit her lip and looked at him askance. “Eye it?” she asked.
“This is where that emotion part comes in. It’s about feeling what’s right.”
She looked doubtful, but followed his instruction and measured out another half teaspoon then tipped it until a little had fallen out.
“After this, you’ll gently whisk it together for a count of twenty.” He watched as she eyed the measuring spoon in her hand and then the bowl. It took her a minute before she finally felt confident enough to dump that last spoonful into the mixture.
“Twenty? That’s very specific.” She arched a brow at him as he handed her the whisk and moved behind her to help steady the bowl.
“We don’t mess with Grandma’s recipe,” he scolded gently. “She said twenty, we do twenty.”
“Do I need to count out loud?” she asked.
“No, I think that was only something I had to do when I was learning my numbers,” he answered with a grin.
He held the bowl with her and the whisk as well. Together, they blended the dry ingredients together. While he held her, he took the time to enjoy the feel of her pressed up against him. He wasn’t going to deny that she made him ache a hell of a lot more than she made him angry. And now that she’d apologized - very well too - his anger was appeased and his cock was ready for some attention. Instead of focusing on that thought, he continued helping her mix the ingredients. When it was done, he lifted it and moved it out of the way. “We’ll need that again later.”
“What’s next then?” she asked.
“Next, we’re going to use the mixer and get the butter and brown sugar mixed together until smooth. So, Ms. Mathematician, how much butter and brown sugar do we need?”
“Four and a three-quarters cups of butter. And seven and one-eighths cups or seven cups and two tablespoons of brown sugar.”
“So that’s nine and a half sticks of butter.” He grabbed what they needed from the cooler and snagged the brown sugar from the pantry. “Here we go. You measure the brown sugar while I unwrap these sticks.” He set the butter to one side of the mixer and the brown sugar to the other. “I’ll get it started after I get the first two sticks in and you have a cup of brown sugar in there. Then we’ll add and let it mix up until it’s smooth.”
She nodded and they worked together until the blender was going and nothing else was ready to add.
“What do we do until it’s ready?” she asked.
“Once it’s smooth, we’ll add the eggs and vanilla. How many do we need?”
“Nine and a half eggs and three tablespoons and half a teaspoon of vanilla.”
Tucker nodded and cleaned up what was no longer needed from their work space before grabbing a carton of eggs from the cooler and the vanilla extract.
“You’re very good at this,” Olivia commented.
“I’d better be,” he laughed. My mother and grandmother used to make these at least once a month. It was the best day each month because I’d get to eat them fresh from the oven!”
“So how do we do half an egg?” she asked.
“Well, there’s two methods that we’ve tried and they work. The first is to just round up and use the full egg. Since we are making such a big batch of this, I think that’s probably the best way to go about doing this.”
“What’s the other way?”
He shook his head. “Not the easy way,” he answered. “It involves whisking the egg and then dividing it in half.”
“And what do you do with the leftover half?” she asked.
He shrugged as he started breaking the eggs into the mixer. “Whatever you want. Sometimes it was used the next morning for breakfast. Sometimes it went into the egg wash for fried chicken later that day.”
“So there was a lot of cooking and baking in your house.”
He paused after the third egg and looked over at her. There was a bit of sadness to her tone. “There was. It was very comforting.”
She nodded, toying with the teaspoon in her hand. “I guess it would be.”
“It’s not something you can’t change for yourself,” Tucker suggested.
She looked up at him. He smiled down at her and finished cracking the eggs into the mixer. “I guess you’re right,” she finally said.
“Why don’t you add the vanilla while I get rid of these shells and wash my hands?” he suggested.
She nodded, the air clearing between them again as she focused on her task.
As he put away the remaining eggs and discarded the shells, he wondered how different his life would be if he hadn’t had the family he did. Would he have missed i
t if he’d never known it? He didn’t know. But he did know that he could give Olivia a good memory like he had of baking these cookies. He grabbed two lemons from the fresh fruit stocked in the cooler before returning to Olivia.
“Almost there,” he said. He set the lemons beside the bowl with the apples and handed the dry ingredient mixture to Olivia. “I’ll let you add this slowly into the mixer with the wet ingredients. Once it’s in, we’ll add the apples.”
“What are you going to do with the lemons?” she asked.
He sliced through the first lemon and squeezed it over the apples. “This helps to keep the apples from browning. We want them to continue to be fresh for the customers throughout the day, and although we’ll be baking them in the cookies, we want that freshness to last.”
Chapter Ten
Olivia frowned and watched as he finished squeezing the lemons and then tossed the apples they’d diced up in the bowl. She’d never really considered that baking was about more than just throwing things together in a bowl or a pan. But in the last half hour, she’d learned more about baking from Tucker than she’d learned in a week of watching Lola.
Cautiously, she started adding the dry mixture into the mixer. The more she added, the stickier the concoction became. When she was done, she stood back and let Tucker add in the apples. She hadn’t thought using the giant mixer was necessary when he’d first gone over to it. But now, she could easily see why they’d needed it. She was surprised the apples didn’t cause the mix to overflow.
“Is that it?” she asked when he finished.
“Except for the baking part,” he said. “How about we get the first few batches ready for the oven and then we can enjoy some warm cookies as soon as they come out?”
She smiled. That sounded good to her. “Okay. I’ll grab two cookie sheets for us.”
“Grab six. We’ll each do three and then we’ll be ready to keep feeding them into the ovens.”
She knew her eyes got wider, but she guessed that made sense. She went to the rack where Lola had baking sheets, pans, muffin tins, and everything else for the ovens. She grabbed six of the sheets and went back to the mixer. Tucker took three of the sheets and handed her a scoop.
“Scoop them out and space them about two inches apart,” he instructed. He showed her himself and she watched carefully as he followed through, fitting fifteen cookies on a sheet. “After this, we’ll press them down a little bit so they’re flat instead of round.” He used the back of the scoop to show her. “Got it?” he asked.
“I think so.” She studied the scoop in her hand for a moment. Then she made the decision to just dive in.
A HALF HOUR LATER, the first batches were out of the ovens and the second ones about to be done. Lola walked in the back door and stopped, her jaw dropping open at the sight of them.
“Lola!” Olivia jumped up from Tucker’s lap, where they’d been laughing at the oddly shaped cookies of hers that were cooling on the counter.
“Livy. Tucker. What are you two doing?” Lola asked, dropping her purse on the counter. She sniffed and her brows creased as she looked at the lined up cookie sheets that still needed to go in the ovens. “Are those cookies?” she asked.
“Hey, Lola,” Tucker greeted, standing up. “Olivia said she had to make a special for today. I hope you don’t mind that I helped her out a bit.”
Olivia grabbed one of the cookies and held it out to the other woman. “Here, try one.”
Lola took the cookie and looked at it for a moment. Then she smelled it, turning it over to look at the other side as well. “Not burnt, so that’s a plus.” She took a bite and her eyes widened. “Oh, that’s delicious!” She looked from Olivia to Tucker and back. “You made these?” she asked.
“Tucker helped by giving me the recipe and then showing me how to do a lot of it. But yeah, I did.” She smiled sheepishly. “So you like them?” she asked.
The timer went off and Tucker went to the ovens. He pulled the two sheets out and set them to the side before putting the next two sheets in. They could fit fifteen cookies to a tray and they had twelve trays to bake. Well, now only eight still needed to bake. Olivia looked at Lola and smiled.
“Livy, these are great. We’ll add them to the board today. Seventy-five cents each, or two for a dollar! They’ll probably sell out,” Lola mused. “Shoot, I may put a dozen aside for myself to take home.” She took another bite and picked up her purse. “I need to go put this in the back room. I’ll be back and help you get the rest of the place set up while you watch the cookies.”
She took off, still eating the rest of the cookie, and leaving Tucker and Olivia alone once more.
“I should get going soon, Red,” Tucker told her. He came over and wrapped his arms around her waist. “How about I come down tomorrow night and take you out for dinner? A regular person kind of dinner,” he added with a wink.
“I think I would like that,” Olivia said. She’d definitely enjoyed their time together in the kitchen. Learning more about him and even a bit about herself had opened her eyes to what she could be enjoying if she let herself.
“Don’t forget, when this timer goes off, take the trays out, put the next ones in and then set it again for thirteen minutes.”
“Aye, aye,” she said with a grin.
He shook his head and returned the smile.
She moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you for helping me today. And for listening to my horrible apology. And for letting me use your shirt as a tissue.”
“You’re welcome, baby.” He tipped her head up by pulling on her ponytail and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Try to keep smiling today,” he told her. “There’s nothing better than a pretty woman smiling like she means it.”
She blushed. “I’ll do my best,” she promised.
“That’s my girl,” he responded. He pressed another kiss to her lips and then swatted her ass lightly. “Tomorrow, I’ll see what else I can help you smile about.”
She shivered at the innuendo behind his words and the slight touch as his hands brushed over her ass again. She heard him yell a goodbye to Lola and then he was out the door, leaving her anxiously waiting for when she would see him again.
THE REST OF THE DAY passed smoothly. Olivia found herself actually enjoying the interactions she had with the customers that came through. She got plenty of compliments on the cookies, which Lola had tagged as Olivia’s Apple Oatmealies. She had one man who bought two with his lunch, then got another six to take back to work with him. Before the lunch rush was over, the cookies were sold out.
“We’ll need to ask Tucker if we can use that recipe of his again. I knew we’d sell out!” Lola exclaimed. She bounced back into the kitchen, leaving Olivia on her own to wipe down the tables.
“Well, look at you, Miss Olivia. You seem to be a mite better now than the last time I saw you,” Mary Agnes said as she walked into the Bad Apple.
“Sister!” Olivia finished wiping the table she was at.
“Oh, stop. I don’t carry the title anymore, remember.” The older woman waved away Olivia’s greeting. “I just came in for a bit of cider and a slice of pie. I do enjoy the pies. Something about those Hart apples. They make a wonderful pie filling.” She took a seat at one of the freshly cleaned tables.
“I’ll get that for you right away,” Olivia said, going back behind the counter. “Do you want it warmed up?” she asked, dishing a slice of pie onto a plate.
“Is there a better way to eat it?” Mary Agnes asked.
Olivia smiled and shook her head. She put the plate in the small warming oven they had behind the counter to heat the individual items. It didn’t take more than twenty seconds, which was just long enough for Olivia to pour the glass of cider. She took the two items to the table and set them in front of the former nun. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked.
“How about a bit of your time, dear?” Mary Agnes answered. She gestured to the seat across from her. “Sit and tell me about how
you’re doing.”
Although it sounded like a suggestion, Olivia heard the order in the words and tone of the woman. She sat in the chair and complied, telling her about the first week of work.
“You’re leaving something out.” Mary Agnes waved her fork at Olivia. “Something happened yesterday. I saw Tucker stomp out of here and then I saw you walking home a few minutes later.”
Olivia sighed and looked down, folding her hands on her lap. “I said something to him that was wrong of me,” she answered.
Mary Agnes nodded solemnly. “And have you apologized?” she asked.
Olivia nodded. “Yes. And he accepted it. He’s agreed to try and help me find out what life is really supposed to be like and enjoy it.”
“That’s wonderful. I knew he would be good for you. I think you’ll be good for him too.” Mary Agnes beamed at her. “Now, let me give you a little bit of a warning. Tucker is quick to anger sometimes, but he’d give you the shirt off his back if it would help. He doesn’t anger often, but it’s usually when he’s disrespected. That boy has had a bit of a chip on his shoulder from being treated poorly by people that consider themselves better than he is. Just because a man has an honest job and works, doesn’t mean he’s any less of a person than someone with a white collar job or a higher class job. There’s nothing that defines someone’s character like how they treat the people who provide a service for others.”
Olivia sucked in a breath. Well, hell. That warning would have been nice to have a day earlier. Actually, two days earlier would have been much better.
“Make sure you treat my boy well, young lady. He’s got a heart of gold and a good head on his shoulders. You treat him well, and he’ll give you the world - his world. You understand?” Mary Agnes asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” Olivia answered quickly, nodding her head. She now had three people she didn’t want to disappoint, and oddly enough, none of them were her father. At one point, his opinion would have meant everything to her. Now, however, it wasn’t her exploits that were being judged, it was her true character. She hoped she could live up to their expectations of her. But a part of her still worried that she might fail and instead be back in the tabloids for something new.
