Page 18 of Minions and Magic
He did as I instructed, whistling cheerfully in the background as I worked on my dough. We chatted about movies, music, our favorite crêpes. He finished before I did, then slid the bowl of sauce into the fridge before coming over to me.
“Bread?” He leaned over my shoulder and I resisted the urge to shift back just an inch so I’d be touching him.
“Yep. Gnomes love a good hearty bread. This recipe is based on a Russian black bread. A little sweeter but with the same thick, chewy texture and crumbly crust.”
“And that?” He pointed to the ingredients I had on another table.
“Sour cherry pie. If you’re a good boy, I’ll make you cinnamon pinwheels with the leftover dough.”
I felt him edge closer, felt the brush of his chest against my back. His arms came around either side of me to cage me in against the edge of the stainless steel table. “What if I’m a bad boy?”
“Then you might get a whole lot more than cinnamon pinwheels.”
I felt my heart stutter, heat rising in my cheeks as I said it. This sort of banter wasn’t anything I’d ever done before. Of all the Perkins sisters, I was the one least likely to naughty-talk, the one least likely to indulge in a one-night stand with a stranger. This was so out of character for me, but it felt right. I hoped he was a bad boy, because if he made a move, I wasn’t going to say “no”. Heaven help me, I never wanted to jump anyone as much as this demon.
I set my dough aside to rise, worked on the pastry for the pies, then showed Xavier how to use the cherry-pitter, leaving him to it as I checked on my bread dough and made the pinwheels.
When he was done that, I had him slice the cherries, and pulled the pinwheels out of the oven. Then I directed Xavier to put the cherries in one of the bowls chilling in the small refrigerator. Xavier removed the bowl from the fridge, hesitating a second. I bit back a smile, knowing what he saw.
“How in the world could there possibly be leftover ginger cake?” he wondered. “I’m sure I polished the rest of it off at the party—unless you were holding back a spare.”
“I always make an extra one or two.” I saw his questioning glance. “And yes, you can have some.”
He cut a huge slice, making appreciative noises as he ate. “What’s in the icing?” he asked. “I can’t quite figure it out from the taste.”
I smiled. “That, my dear demon, is a secret.”
“Family recipe?”
“No, my personal recipe.”
He finished the huge slab of the ginger cake, then pulled one of the still-hot pinwheels off the baking sheet.
“It’s nothing big,” I told him, suddenly shy. “Just leftover pastry dough, butter, and some cinnamon and sugar. My grandmother showed me how to make them when I was five and wanted to help her make pies. Ever since then I can’t throw the dough away. I always make pinwheels and think of her.”
My voice went soft as I remembered those days—my childhood before Grandma died, before Mom took off and left Cassie to raise us all. I didn’t even have to close my eyes to see Grandma’s hands with the fine bones and the network of brown spots. Her skin was smooth and cool, her hair in a long silver braid. When she laughed, it came up from deep inside her belly, shaking her entire body with joy. In many ways I missed her more than I’d missed my own mother.
Xavier took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and nodded as he swallowed. “These are wonderful.”
He stepped into me, holding out the remaining bit of pinwheel for me to eat. I leaned forward to take it and he brushed his thumb across my upper lip.
“It’s more than food,” he whispered. “There’s history and love in these. These creations of yours…they’re magic.”
If he tasted my real magic he wouldn’t think that at all.
“There’s no magic in my cooking.” I couldn’t step back, couldn’t look away from his amazing blue eyes. “I make healing potions, but they taste terrible. My magic makes them taste bad. I think it’s a trade-off. There’s always a price to magic, you know.”
“Thereismagic in your cooking,” he insisted. “Not healing magic, but something else.”
“What?” I whispered, my gaze going to his lips.
“Joy. Community. Love.”
His lips met mine, and I swear for a moment, the world stopped spinning. It wasn’t one of those desperate, hungry kisses, but soft and full of promise. His tongue teased mine, and as he pulled away he nipped my bottom lip. It was over far too fast and I wanted more—I wanted so much more.
“I’m going to win tomorrow. And then I’m going to do a whole lot more than kiss you.”
He left, and for minutes afterward, I just stood there in my kitchen unable to move. When I finally turned away from the door, I saw that he hadn’t done the dishes.
