Page 30 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
‘Just some overheard gossip.’ He does avague handwave. ‘Ignore me, I’m just nosy. You know what they say – curiosity makes the cat knowledgeable and fun to be around.’
The laugh makes my guard drop again. He’s leaning back against the cupboard door, his head resting against it, and his easygoingness and unintentional humour make him so effortless to talk to. ‘I doubted myself. I didn’t think I could do it. It was Marnie who hit send when I’d ummed and ahhed and watched the deadline tick past.’
‘Self-sabotage…’
‘I can’t bake, Bram! And I no longer have a kitchen! It’s not self-sabotage to think those two things might have a negative impact on my ability to run a tearoom.’
‘They might make it difficult, but nothing’s impossible. Come here whenever you like. Consider my kitchen yours.’
‘Bram, that’s—’ I was about to say how kind that is, but I’m cut off by the oven timer bleeping. ‘Well, no more kitchens are burning down on my watch, so one of us is going to have to get them out.’
He rolls his head along the cupboard door until his tired eyes meet mine. ‘I would rather they burn than you stop talking.’
I nearly say ‘awwww’ out loud but I stop myself as he hauls himself to his feet and shoves his hand into a brightly coloured oven glove – one of the little touches of himself that he’s brought into this bland house.
I touch a hand to my lips, surprised by what has come out of my own mouth. ‘I did not intend to tell you all that.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I didn’t intend to tell you any of what I told you either. Welcome to Oversharing Alley, population: two.’
It doesn’t seem like a bad thing when it comes to finding out about this spectacular nut, but I’m not sure it’s a good thing when he’s also finding out about me. I’ve hidden away for so long and I never thought it would be this easy to let someone in again, butBram has a way of breaking down even the toughest construction of walls.
He puts the hot oven tray on the unit and while he turns around to switch the oven off, I’ve already prised a cookie off the baking paper and it’s on a plate in front of me, even though it’s far too hot to touch yet.
‘Oi!’ He’s taking the mick out of all the times I’ve told him off for grabbing something without letting it cool first.
I put a hand on my hip. ‘If you think I’m waiting even a fraction of a second longer than I have to…’
‘Contrariwise, I wouldneverrecommend waiting for something to cool before sampling it. There really is no point in making anything if you don’t burn your mouthandfingers in your haste to try it.’
‘I’m glad we agree.’ I turn over the square cookie, which somehow managed to retain its perfectly square shape in the oven instead of expanding and splurging into one mass like my attempts keep turning out. I roll it from edge to edge using my nails until it’s cool enough to break a piece off and pop it in my mouth.
‘Oh my God,’ I murmur, but this time itisthe good kind of ‘oh my God’. The biscuit melts on my tongue in a mix of chocolate and vanilla, with a crunch of sugar and a buttery taste. I quickly pop another bit in. ‘These are amazing. How did youdothat?’ It’s a rhetorical question because I watched every step and I still can’t explain how he can make a few simple ingredients complement each other so well. Before I know it, I’ve eaten a whole one and taken another one. ‘Magic by day, wizardry in the kitchen by night. I don’t know why I’m even trying – I should just give up and hire you as the tearoom chef.’
He laughs, but it’s an awkward laugh and his cheeks are blazing with redness. I never would’ve thought that someone who is so cocky as the Mad Hatter would be so bad at takingcompliments himself. ‘Well, firstly, “wizardry” is pushing it a bit for simple chequerboard cookies, secondly, because I wouldn’t stop doing magic for anything, and thirdly, because you don’t want to hire a tearoom baker, you want tobethe tearoom baker, and we’re not giving up on that.’ He puts another piece of the cookie into his mouth. ‘But I’m happy to carry on helping out to supplement the supermarket-bought goods until you don’t need them any more.’
I like how much faith he has that that will ever be a possibility. ‘These are beyond perfect for The Wonderland Teapot. I’ve still got some “Eat Me” rice paper tags, I could stick one of those on each with a dob of icing. How did you get to be so good at this?’
‘I don’t know. It’s an outlet.’ He gets a Tupperware container out, ready to load the cookies into when they’ve cooled down. ‘I have a limited amount of outgoingness, and when I get home after work, I need to do something to chill out and be alone. I can switch off and concentrate on nothing but measuring and mixing and rolling out with no pressure or expectation to be fun and entertaining. Sometimes it goes wrong, sometimes it goes right, but either way, by the time it comes out of the oven, I feel like me again and I can face another day tomorrow with a spring in my step.’
I’m once again struck by how open he is and how he isn’t afraid of his feelings. ‘Am I messing that up? Your alone time, your time in the kitchen… I’ve been here almost every night.’
‘No.’ He thinks about it for a moment. ‘No, you’re genuinely not. I still feel like I’m alone when you’re here, I’m just less lonely.’
His words make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. ‘Was that a compliment?’
‘I think so.’
We both laugh, but I see what he’s really saying. The front he puts on in public is exhausting, and afterwards, he needs to decompress and just be himself. He hasn’t hidden that from me since themoment I arrived, and it means a lot that he can still do that while I’m here.
It’s late by the time the cookies have cooled, and the sky outside is dark when Bram walks me to the door and pulls it open.
‘Thanks for tonight,’ he says without elaborating, but I know what he means. A non-judgemental listening ear makes all the difference sometimes. I feel it too. I didn’t tell him much about my mum, but it was more than I’ve told anyone else in recent years, and the tension that seems to constantly clench around my shoulders feels looser somehow.
‘Thanks for the cookies.’ I give the Tupperware box I’m holding a gentle rattle.
It feels like he’s lingering and IknowI’m lingering. I’ve lingered in the kitchen, I’ve lingered all along the hallway, and now I’m lingering in the open door.
‘See you tomorrow?’ He sounds hesitant and unsure, even though I most definitely will see him tomorrow.
