Page 70 of Why Not Both?

“What’s that?” Spencer asks.

“The vanilla?”

“But it’s brown.”

I turn to him, pausing in my whisking. “Of course it’s brown. What colour did you expect it to be?”

“White. Vanilla is white.”

“No. Vanilla cake is white. Vanilla ice cream is white. Vanilla is brown.” I return to the hot chocolate and remove it from the heat. Then I start the popcorn. “Actually, vanilla beans are almost black.”

“Vanilla comes from a bean?” he asks.

I turn again. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of course. I don’t really know anything about cooking. Aside from my melted Havarti and prosciutto on brioche.”

I suppress my laughter. “Are you sure you’re a functioning adult?”

“Only mostly.”

I get the popcorn started and go to the cupboard, putting everything away and selecting the slim container with three vanilla beans inside. I hand it to him and then find the mugs and a bowl.

“This is not what I expected vanilla to look like,” he says, turning it around in his hands. “You use these for something?”

“Those are specifically for a cheesecake I plan to make. But you can use them in other things.” I pour hot chocolate into the mugs and shake the pot with the popcorn, listening carefully as the kernels pop.

“Who is this cheesecake for and am I invited to eat it?”

I give the pot another shake and take the beans back, replacing them in the cupboard. “Sophie’s birthday is next month. They were on sale. Vanilla beans are expensive.”

“And am I invited to eat it?” he repeats.

“I can maybe try to save you a piece. No promises.”

“What if I cashed in a favour?”

The popping slows down, so I give the pot a final shake and then grab the bowl. “You’re going to use up all your favours if you keep running through them.”

“What’s the point in saving them?”

I pour the popcorn into a bowl and hand it to him, followed by his mug of hot chocolate. He takes them both to the couch while I quickly clean both pots and set them in the drying rack. Then I take my mug to the living room as well.

“Shit!” Spencer says. “This is delicious.”

I watch as he takes another sip of the hot chocolate, his eyes closing as the sweet drink touches his lips.

I bite the inside of my mouth to keep the smile contained. It’s insane how happy it makes me that he likes something I made.

“I told you so,” I say, sipping my drink before sitting on the other side of the couch.

“Legs up,” he says, pointing to the space between us.

“Excuse me?”

“You said you needed a massage after the hike.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m fine. I’ll go for a hot bath tonight and do some yoga before bed.”

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