Page 38 of The Likelihood Of You

“You scared?” His voice was so low that I barely heard him, like a purr.

I shook my head at him, and as I bit my lip, I watched his golden eyes drop to it so slowly I couldn’t help but squeeze my thighs together before his eyes latched back onto mine. “Good.”

I wonder what goes through his mind when he looks at me like that.

He pushed away from the worktop and headed for a door that I assumed led to the pantry, but I couldn’t be sure. The only thing Iwas sure about at that moment was how I knew I wouldn’t make it out of this room without letting myself bask in every sensation Jacob Emerson made me feel.

Was it getting hot in here? Are the ovens on full blast? They can’t be; I just had my head in them.

I wasn’t sure how I’d just sat through him standing over me, all stoic and bear-like, without grabbing his face and showing him how much he was driving me and my plans right off a cliff. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stop myself either.

He returned to the kitchen a minute later, plenty of time for me to collect myself and stop sweating, and in his hands was a giant bucket of ingredients. “Have you ever used these types of ovens before? Or the industrial mixers?” He asked, placing the bucket on the worktop and unloading it.

“A long time ago.” My voice was still shaky from what just happened. “During my culinary course in uni, actually. I just used the one at home after I graduated, but I’m familiar with them.”

He looks up at me. “You have a degree in baking!?” He asked, his face seeming to light up.

“Well, cooking technically, but yes. I know it’s kind of useless, but I learned a lot, and it helped me polish the skills I already had.”

That was the textbook response every time Hugo asked me why I picked to study something I already knew a considerable amount about, rather than a ‘financially secure’ degree, as he called them.

Or, soul-sucking, life-destroying, and ones that have the dropout statistics spike every year, as I called them.

“I don’t think it’s useless. It’s actually really cool.” Jacob said, and I knew he meant it.

“Thanks.”

Once everything was out on the worktop and separated into our own individual piles, like we were hosting some daytime cooking show made for people like Nanna Dorothy, we started our one-hour timers and got to work.

We didn’t speak much while preparing the pastry cases, only a few side-eye squints and fleeting smirks, but once they were in the oven (with a timer set this time), Jacob started asking me every question under the sun. Probably because he knew how easily distracted I could get.

The cheat.

“What’s your favourite thing to bake then?” He asked, as he not so subtly leaned his head toward me to check out my frangipane situation.

“Everything, I guess, but if I had to pick, I’d probably say cupcakes. They’re so simple, but there are still so many ways to jazz them up. The possibilities are endless.” I grabbed the bag of ground almonds and poured them into the bowl a bit too enthusiastically, so he couldn’t accuse me of creating an almond-less mixture again. “What about you?”

“Brownies. Hands down.”

“Okay…what about your least favourite?”

“My Mom’s apple pie recipe. I swear I go over the measurements by an ounce and it falls apart.”

I let out a knowing sigh as I got to work whisking the mixture. “Right! The first time I tried to recreate it, because I just couldn’t get it out of my mind, it tasted awful. It’s like witchcraft.” We both laughed, and soonenough, the timer for the pastries beeped, and we started assembling our creations.

“Okay then… what’s your favourite food?” he asked, delicately pouring his frangipane into the cases.

“Easy. Mac’n’Cheese.” Jacob gives me a satisfied nod. “You?”

“Can’t go wrong with a burger. Except the Wendy’s ones…the square patties freak me out a bit.” I giggle at that. “Favourite drink?”

“Dr Pepper.”

“A girl with taste.” Jacob smiles at me as he heads over to the oven that is even taller than him, both of our tarts in either hand, and as he slides them in and closes the door, he says, “Okay, I’m enjoying this. Quick-fire round?”

I straighten my spine and shake my shoulders. “Hit me, Emerson.”

I ignored what his smirk did to me when his nickname hit his ears, as he came back and stood opposite me. “Favourite colour?”

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