Page 22 of Go Cook Yourself

I slowly lick buttercream off the teaspoon to stop myself from saying anything stupid.

My stomach jumps as Ruby’s eyes darken. Her chest flushes, but that could be the lighting or a rash or something. Please let it be me.

“I was going through the list for Tuesday’s evening class.”

We don’t have loads of classes in the middle of the week, although Amber’s business model involves getting additional work from evening classes, daytime team-building, and children’s parties. Still, I can’t afford to survive and build up savings on four day classes a week, even with the possibility of working at the local college.

Ruby adds, “We have a cookery class for a work team-building event on Tuesday, and we need to ensure we’re all set with dietary requirements and accessibility issues.” Her voice drops. “By the way, what are you wearing?”

“Right now? A shirt and—”

She facepalms, “No, for the Halloween session. It’s fancy dress, remember? I might dress as a naughty maid if I can find my costume and wash my hold ups in time.”

She’s killing me, and she knows it. My stomach is all over the place, and I’m tempted to shove all my gum in my mouth, but I don’t want to ruin the taste of the buttercream. I pop the spoon in and suck on it.

Her laughter is a melody that I swear I’ll hear in my dreams. “Keep up, Garett.”

“I have to wear a costume? Maybe I could go as a grumpy chef,” I utter around the spoon.

Her eyes twinkle, and that flush hits my stomach again.

“You’d wear that costume well, especially if you had those forearms showing.”

“Would you be able to look away? I’d hate to be distracting you all Halloween.”

“Sweetie,” she says as she steps closer, pulls the spoon out of my mouth, and pops it in hers. She gives it a big suck. My eyes must be as big as saucers. She takes the spoon, puts it back in my mouth, and tips my chin to close it. “I’d be so busy readjusting my hold ups that I wouldn’t notice you. You, on the other hand…”

She sashays away, and I’m frozen.

She has the measure of me, and the happiness bursting from my heart is disarming.Don’t go there. She’s a Cloud, and you need this job.But her giggles as she turns to me make my heart do that thing again. I stare back at her and roll my tongue around my mouth.

Will she finally ask for the favour I’ve been considering all week?

She comes over to me several minutes later as I check the stock. I don’t need to, as Kath will have it sorted, but I’m already looking for reasons to hang around on the off chance Ruby will speak to me again.

My old team used to call me the dictator, emphasising thedick, but her sunshine routine is wearing me down. I want to soak up her light and give some of it back.

She’s back in front of me, and a tiny part of me hopes she can’t get enough of me, even though that would be the worst thing. “I won’t be a sexy maid next week, so don’t get yourself all hot under the collar again.” Her teases are relentless, and I’m all here for it. “I’ll probably be a gnarled old witch with boils and bumps all over my skin.”

“Will you need help applying those? Because I’m sure I could help with the hard-to-reach places.”

She throws her head back and laughs. The pride hits my chest hard. I did that.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, but I appreciate the support.”

“Always,” I say with a smirk.

I get a waft of buttercream and remember tasting Ruby after she licked the spoon and popped it in my mouth. She was like strawberries and white chocolate, meaning she’d sneaked a blondie from somewhere or tastes of heaven. A kiss would confirm it. I glance briefly at her lips as she busies herself with the stock. They have a slight sheen, like she’s licked them.

“How’s Cookie? Based on how you two were the other week, I'm presuming the dog was yours.” She’s worrying that rosy lip now, nibbling at it.

“Cookie, yeah,” I reply, relieved that she’s giving me a reprieve from flirting. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m usually an expert at banter. “It’s nice that you remembered his name.”

She shrugs like it means nothing, but it means the world to me. “What sort of dog is he? Apart from the cutest, liveliest ball of floof ever.” She’s tapping her foot now.

“He’s a Cavapoo.”

“And does he live with that lady that came? She’s your…”

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