Page 11 of Temptation at Randy's

Heat rose to my cheeks, but I couldn’t remember if I’d asked them already—or if they’d answered. Maybe I should finally listen to the podcasts I played on my way to work and take up meditation or something like that.

Yoga?

That could work. I’d never been too flexible, but people said it was relaxing.

“Just water is good,” Claude distracted me.

It was a good thing they did. I could get lost inside my head and start making a million plans.

“Sure.”

I was going to grab just one bottle but realized two was the safer option. Having something to do with my hands would potentially help me not to look so awkward, right?

My heartbeat started to slow down once I was sat down. My mother used to joke that I only started to listen when I was resting my butt. It had made me uncomfortable back then, but maybe there was some truth behind the teasing.

Anyway.

“So…” Claude bit their lip while tilting their head to the side. “How long are we waiting?”

“Oh, about… twenty minutes?” I was ninety-nine percent sure twenty minutes would be enough, at least. “Full disclosure, I’m really not good at plating.”

“What do you mean?”

I chuckled nervously. Sure, I was calmer, and I could appreciate the fresh forest green dye in Claude’s hair, and the oversized button down and how their striped pants made their legs look longer. That didn’t mean I suddenly got all my shit together.

…There was no way on Earth they were coming back here, even if I managed to blow their mind with my baking skills.

“You know in those baking shows, how there’s someone that says they’re all about the flavors, but they hate the flashy, pretty stuff?” I ran a hand through my hair. I should’ve tied it up or something, but I always felt like my head looked too big when it was pulled back. It brought too much attention to my brow bone, I think. I could deal with it most of the time, but not when I was already feeling self-conscious. “I’m kind of like that. Well, I don’t hate it. I just don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”

“Got it.” Claude chuckled. “And that’s totally fine.”

How many times had they reassured me since they walked in, again?

This was an absolute mess.

“Yeah, well, didn’t want you to set your expectations too high.”

Fuck me.

“I’m just happy to have something baked that doesn’t come from a plastic wrapper,” Claude said. Their eyes were twinkling. The blue popped out more with the new hair color. “You can relax, I swear.”

“You never bake?”

I was pretty certain that I’d seen videos of them and Ben attempting to bake stuff they’d seen on TV. Saying that would probably make me sound like more of a stalker than I was comfortable with, though.

I hadn’t even seen their videos in years, anyway. I just had a good memory.

“Nah.” Claude shook their head. “I tried a few times, but I’m a disaster in the kitchen. Most of my fridge is precooked meals.”

I shuddered.

Then again… “I could teach you. If you want.”

I didn’t know if I was salvaging today’s disaster or making it ten times worse. I supposed that would be a problem for future me.

“Sure. I personally think I’m a lost cause, but yeah. It could be fun.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what was going on anymore, but I might as well go with it.

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