Page 53 of The Snowball Effect

Those blue eyes blinked back at her as if unable to process what she was saying. Which was reflected by Emma’s skeptical expression. “I’ve heard you banging around in here tons of times. And I’ve seen you bring containers of baked goods out of here.”

“Exactly; I bake when you’re asleep, and yeah, I love when people try my finished products,” she tried to explain. “I mean – I don’t know. It’s stupid, but… baking has always just been for me. The process of it. It’s stupid,” she repeated, shaking her head at herself.

Because itdidsound stupid when she said it aloud. After all, she did love it when people ate the food she made; she enjoyed sharing it. But the idea of sharing theprocessfelt… nerve-wracking.

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed together, critically. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

Regan’s fingers tightened where she had them clasped together. “You don’t?”

“I mean, we all have the things we like to do just for ourselves. And if anyone understands the desire for privacy, it’s me.” Emma flashed a sharp grin. “If you want to do this by yourself, that’s fine–”

“Wait.” Regan jumped forward as Emma started to take a step back, reaching out to grab at her wrist. “Stop. Let’s do it together.”

Even though it made her nervous, she pushed through it. Because – really, whydidit make her nervous? She could pull herself together for this. For this bonding activity that Emma was finally willing to give her.

Letting Emma walk away from this opportunity felt like a complete and total waste. She’d wanted Emma to spend time with her for over a month, and now that Emma seemed to be genuinely willing to give her a chance, she wasn’t going to pass it up. She wasn’t an idiot.

With that, she nodded, willing herself to get over that weird hiccup of hesitation. “It’s fine. It’s cool. It’s going to be fun.”

Emma’s eyebrows lifted higher on her forehead with every word she spoke, revealing her doubt. “Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”

Regan considered it for a second before she shrugged. “Both?”

“You know we can still hang out today even without the cupcakes. I understand boundaries, and if this is one for you–”

Shaking her head, Regan vehemently dismissed the idea. “No, it’s fine.” If Emma was willing to challenge her perceptions, Regan could, too. She wasn’t in the business of being a hypocrite in any way. “It’s actually a good thing, probably. Personal growth and all that.”

Emma rolled her eyes but was smiling as she did so. “Riiight.”

Itwasa good thing, Regan reaffirmed to herself, remembering she was still holding onto Emma’s wrist. She gently released her. “So, how much do you know about baking?”

“I don’t,” Emma answered promptly.

“Now is not the time to be glib, Emma. I need to know how in-depth you’re going to need my instructions to be while we work.”

“Being glib isn’t really my thing.” Which, fair point. “I’m telling you that I’ve never done any baking unless you count buying pre-made cookie dough and popping it into the oven.”

Horrified, Regan shuddered. “That is a tragedy. If I needed an extra push to get me to a place where I was ready to bake with someone – which I didn’t… mostly – there it is. Let’s get to it.”

She reached out to where she hung her aprons, flinging one in Emma’s direction, before grabbing one for herself. And when the thought struck her, she gleefully spun around as she pulled the apron over her head. “You know what this means? You have to listen to, like, everything I say! What a way to start our bonding time.”

Emma nailed her with a look as she tugged her own apron over her head. “There’s still time for me to go back to bed.”

But she was tying the apron behind her back as she spoke, so Regan laughed.

Okay… maybe this could be fun.

By the time the cupcakes were in the oven, Regan’s anxiety around baking with someone else had entirely dissipated.

It was made easy, really, because Emma’s genuine naivety throughout the entire process was so damn entertaining. Oncethey’d really gotten into it, Regan had been so caught up in their conversation to be concerned about feeling self-conscious.

“Here, use this for the dry ingredients,” she’d instructed, handing Emma the sifter as Regan moved to pre-heat the oven.

Emma had dubiously looked down at it. “What… is this?” She flexed her hand on the handle, rotating the sifters.

Regan gasped, whirling around to face her again. “Emma – wait, what’s your middle name?”

“Not necessary information,” Emma clipped, turning back to the counter to grab her coffee.

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