Page 68 of ICED
Her eyes sparkle. “I’m just saying, if your fondant skills are anything like your skating skills, we’re doomed.”
I blink. “I lead the league in fights and muffins.”
“And yet, you still fall over your own skates.”
“That’s called flair,” I say, deadpan. “Try to keep up.”
Maya bites her lip like she’s holding back a laugh. Or something else.
I clear my throat. “I got invited to Murphy and Sophie’s shower, obviously.”
She nods, wiping her hands. “Yeah. You mentioned. When is it?”
“Saturday.”
She hums like she’s thinking about her schedule.
“I want you to come,” I say. “Both of you.”
She goes still. Not closed off. Just surprised.
“You want me to bring Lila to your teammate’s baby shower?” she says slowly.
“They’ll love her.”
“Won’t it be weird?”
“No,” I say, firm. “Murphy asked me today if you’d come. He told Sophie about you both. Said Lila should meet the team.”
Maya softens. “She’ll love that.”
“You too.”
She snorts. “You just want backup.”
“Always,” I admit.
She shakes her head, but the smile is shy. “I’ll think about it.”
We start mixing the batter, the envelope still untouched on the counter. She tells me about her bakery class this morning, a kid who dumped a full bag of flour on the floor just to make snow angels. I tell her about Murphy’s attempt to eat a protein bar mid-scrimmage and nearly choking to death.
By the time we open the envelope together, both of us standing side-by-side, elbows touching, Maya looks at me like she trusts me with it. Like she trusts me, full stop.
I don’t read it out loud. Just nod, and she grins.
“Right,” she says. “Let’s get baking.”
We whip through two trays of cupcakes, swirling the batter with food dye, keeping it light and fun. Lila wanders in halfway through and insists on taste-testing the icing. Maya lets her lick the spoon, then shoos her off to get ready for bed.
We don’t talk while we pipe the icing. We don’t need to. It’s easy. Like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“Y’know,” Maya says finally, licking a smudge of icing off her thumb, “this is weirdly hot.”
I blink. “What is?”
“Watching you pipe perfect buttercream like its life or death. Very serious. Very sexy.”
I smirk. “I take my baking seriously.”
