Page 60 of The Troublemaker

“Okay, you boys can have the beaters,” Cason says as he looks at me, his eyes indicating he has much more interesting things to lick.

“Okay, let’s get started,” I say. “First we wash up. You boys run to the bathroom. Use lots of soap. I want squeaky clean hands when you get back.”

They dash to the bathroom and my head spins as Cason pulls me to him in a fast tug, aligning my pelvis with his. “I can’t believe you did this!”

I shrug and look at the old green oven. My insides are alive, my thoughts jumbled as he gazes at me with heat, and something that might possibly be….love.

Do I dare hope?

“You said you always wanted one. I thought this would be fun. I don’t know if it will turn out all that great with the bigger mix, but it should be okay, and I hope you like chocolate. Actually who doesn’t like chocolate, right?” A wobbly grin tugs at the corners of his mouth as I ramble. Oh God, what is he thinking? “What?” I ask.

“You’re kind of adorable.”

I let loose a relieved laugh. “That’s better than what I thought you might be thinking.”

“What did you think I was thinking?”

I glance at all the supplies. “That you might think I was a big dork.”

His big belly laugh curls around me. “Well maybe a bit, but did I tell you I liked dorks?” Before I can whack him, his mouth closes over mine for a warm, deeply passionate kiss that makes me forget there is a world beyond him, beyond this moment. But I’m quickly reminded when I hear two sets of feet pounding toward the kitchen. I break the kiss, and work to find my breath as we part, but he doesn’t go far. No, he stays so close to me, a terrible distraction as I open the cake box and reach for a bowl.

“Okay, who wants to pour the mix into the bowl?” I ask the boys.

As Casey pours it and I measure out the water, Cason produces a glass of wine and hands it to me. “I believe white goes with chocolate,” he says, that same intense look on his face again, one that tells me exactly how he plans to taste his chocolate.

My hand almost shakes as I gratefully take it from him, take a sip, and set it on the table.

“How does a lightbulb cook it?” Brandon asks as he pours in the water, and I give Casey a big spoon to stir it.

“Well,” Cason begins and goes into explaining how the heat from the light bulb can cook the cake.

I grin. “It’s almost like you’ve done your research.”

“I know things,” he says like a four-year-old.

I laugh and put my hand on his chest. “Oh, I know. You’re pretty and smart.”

“Guys aren’t pretty,” Brandon says.

“Wrong,” Cason says. “Guys can be whatever they want to be. If they want to be pretty, they can be pretty.” I eye him, so proud of his values and acceptance of everyone, regardless of the color of their hair, piercings, or choices in life. He is such a sweet guy.

“I want to bake cakes,” Casey says.

“Then that’s what you should do,” I tell him and hand him the beater. It’s big in his hand, so I help him hold it, and soon enough, I give Brandon a turn. It’s easy to tell how much they’re enjoying this whole process by the looks on their faces, although they could just be excited because the end prize is, you know…cake.

Once they finish mixing, I remove the beaters and hand one over to each child. They eagerly lick them. “No eggs, no worries,” I say to Cason.

“Not wo

rried,” he says, and I like how much he trusts me.

“This is yummy,” Casey says and I take the batter and pour a bit into each tiny tray.

“Do we each get our own cake?” Brandon asks.

“Yes,” I tell him and his eyes light up.

“Mommy would never let me eat a whole cake.”

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