“Be what?”
“Nothing.” His tone made it clear he wouldn’t be revealing anything else.
Okay, then. Looked like she wasn’t the only one who had no desire to bare their soul today.
“Wow. Almost a hundred fifty. That’s a lot of cupcakes.” One of the ways she’d learned to cope with dyslexia was a lot of memorization. She could do multiplication tables in her head like nobody’s business.
“We offer the special of the day, along with our basic flavors and a seasonal favorite. At least that’s the goal.” A shadow crossed his handsome features. He rolled his shoulders and sent a clearly forced smile her way. “Let’s get to these cupcakes.”
He handed her a glass mixing bowl identical to the one on the counter in front of him.
“Do you ever improvise?” she asked after he studied the recipe for at least ten seconds like he was committing the steps to memory.
“No, I leave that to Nicholas. I like having a formula to follow.”
Her lips cracked into a smile. “You mean a recipe?”
Despite not knowing him long, she wasn’t surprised by his answer. He struck her as someone who liked logic and order. Someone who was stuck with her illogical and disorderly self for the next few months. No wonder that crease seemed to have taken up permanent residence between his eyebrows. Not that it mattered. She was here to work so she could gain access to her trust fund and, subsequently, full control of her life. Not become besties with him.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes. Whatever. I like knowing if I follow a recipe, the result will be exactly what I want and expect.”
He cracked two eggs into the bowl with precision and minimal movement of his hand and wrist.
Jada took a deep breath. She could do this. She just had to follow exactly what he did.
One tap on the lip of the bowl, two. Crack! The shell split and the yolk splattered on the counter. “Crap!”
The yellow liquid slid in a slow but nonstop blob, spreading across the pristine counter and then down the side. Oh, no. Panic dogged her heels as she spun in a circle, frantically searching for a towel. She spotted a red one and swiped at the mess she’d made. She moaned as more of the yolk slipped over the side in a race to the tiled floor. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Donovan’s hand landed on her shoulder, sending a jolt of sensation through her. She turned. He nodded, his face and voice equally calm. “Don’t worry. It’s just egg.”
“I didn’t want to mess up this beautiful kitchen.” She didn’t want to see the same disappointed look on his face she’d seen so often on her parents’ faces every time she screwed something up.
He squeezed her shoulder, his gaze a mesmerizing combination of concern and sympathy. “We all start somewhere. Don’t worry. We have a refrigerator full of eggs and a supply closet full of cleaning supplies. I can handle any mess you make. But yes, please remember the eggs go in the bowl.”
His deadpan delivery surprised a snort of laughter out of her. They shared a grin. “When you put it that way.” As her heart slowed to a more normal rate, Jada turned back to the counter. A few swipes and the mess was gone. She exhaled. “What’s your favorite flavor?”
A brief smile touched his lips. “Out of our staples, peanut butter chocolate. It’s like a Reese’s but a million times better. My mother made them for my birthday whenever she could.”
“Whenever she could?”
His shoulders tensed. “Money was tight some years. When it was, cupcakes were the last thing on her mind, but those years when we were okay … those were the best.” He glanced at her. “Stop procrastinating.”
“Okay, fine.” She took a deep breath and followed his directions. Or at least, she tried to. Flour was a slippery sucker and liked to create a plume, but she kept going, even if she did spend more of her time cleaning up spills than doing anything that could reasonably be called baking. And there was the unfortunate moment when she added four cups of sugar instead of two and had to start over for the third time. Through it all, Donovan was patient. Mostly. That crease in his forehead never disappeared, but he didn’t yell at least, so she took it as a win.
“Time for the mixer.” He gestured toward the massive shiny stainless steel piece of equipment on the opposite counter.
Jada swallowed. The machine was intimidating. Forget sugarplums. Visions of ingredients flying across the immaculate kitchen if she screwed up the timing or whatever settings were on the mixer danced in her head. The nerves she’d battled back returned with a vengeance.