Idiots to Lovers (bxb)

15 | Just Two Bros Making Christmas Cake

Everett's mom finally spoke. "Yes he's at home. Why do you ask?"

I balked, not expecting that she wouldn't let me in. "I came to help with the Christmas cake, Everett said he was making some...I'm sorry," I quickly added as her glare intensified, "I can go."

She frowned, crossing her arms across her chest as if she were contemplating it. I scuffed my sneakers at the doorway, having what was probably the most awkward encounter of my life.

"Mom!" Everett suddenly yelled, appearing from somewhere behind her, "Why are you torturing my friends?!"

He skidded up to the door and yanked me by the arm, pulling me past his mother's slight frame.

I threw her an apologetic glance as Everett dragged me to the kitchen. I might have been more mortified by the situation if it weren't for the fact that his arm was linked around mine. His fingers brushed the inside of my wrist, shooting little shivers all the way to my fingertips.

"God, I am so sorry Clementine. I don't know why she's so embarrassing," he said pointedly loudly before slamming shut the kitchen door.

"What does she hate me for?" I asked, my shock being overshadowed by the feel of his fingertips tracing over my skin, light as raindrops before his hand dropped away. "We've barely met."

"I wasn't expecting you, or I would've hung around there to open the door," Everett said, not really answering my question.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have just come over like this," I apologized, belatedly realizing that I hadn't even texted him to confirm.

"You can come anytime you like, Clementine."

I felt myself flushing at his words, heat pooling up in my stomach. My mind was definitely in the gutter. I quickly switched back to the previous topic, before my body's inconvenient reaction was too noticeable to explain away.

"Is it cause I almost ran over your dad?" I asked, "He seemed to be okay with me though."

Everett snapped his fingers, looking relieved. "Oh right, you tried to kill my father. Yes, that's it."

"I didn't try to kill him! You're the one who suddenly shifted the gear!"

"Sure, Clementine. You just tell yourself that."

I glared at him and went to preheat the oven, seeing as how the batter was almost prepared.

The kitchen was already a mess. Evidently, no one had been keeping an eye on Everett. Several jam bottles were laying open on the counter, and it seemed he had used a bit from each bottle even though they were all the exact same jam.

Aside from that, I noted the absence of a single measuring cup on the counter or in the sink. The kitchen scale was also still in its box, stored on a high shelf.

There seemed to be more cherries in Everett's hair than there were in the cake mix. His curls were dotted with bright red and green. Along with the festively coloured stains on his T-shirt, he looked rather like a Christmas tree.

I couldn't believe I was actually in love with this mess of a boy.

It didn't really seem fair.

"Why are you making Christmas cake anyway," I asked, "It's still summer."

"Christmas cake needs time to set," Everett explained, "It has to marinate."

"Marinate?"

"Yeah, it's gotta marinate in all the whisky."

"You won't need to use so much of it; it's much stronger than brandy." I rolled my eyes. "Where's the bottle?" I asked, looking around and not seeing it lying with the other ingredients.

Everett jerked his head towards the cake tray.

I caught his eye, and a horrible realization dawned over me. "What? All of it?"

"Yep," he breezily confirmed.

My jaw went slack. "You put a full bottle in there?"

"My dad told me to! He gave it to me to use." Everett glared at me. "It's literally one of the ingredients."

"But you're making more than one tray of Christmas cake, aren't you?" I asked carefully.

"Yeah, I have to make around thirty kilos, but I'm just doing one tray at a time."

"Everett, I'm pretty sure your dad wanted you to use that bottle between all the trays of cake."

He stared at me for a moment. "You know what, that actually makes much more sense, now that I come to think of it."

I leaned in and cautiously sniffed the tray. Even the smell was almost enough to make me feel lightheaded. "Uhuh, yeah. Your cake is going to get all the customers drunk."

Everett grinned. "Let's just keep this, uh, special batch just for special occasions. Not for sale."

Clearly he needs to be closely monitored.

We took turns mixing the last of the ingredients. The air smelled like ginger and spice. Everett leaned over me to reach for something at some point, and I realized he smelled like caramel.

He straightened up and smiled at me with his dazzling smile.

"Clementine," he started, "We can stop going for the counseling. I know it's starting to seem a bit too real, and I know you felt uncomfortable during the last session."

Sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows and lit him from behind, casting a golden halo around his curls. In that moment, he looked like an angel.

I love him. I love him.

"Me? Nah, bro."

Did I just call him bro?

I tried to laugh it off, but what came out was an awkward, fake sounding laughter. My mind was so addled with his starry eyes that my mouth continued before my brain could catch up.

"I just can't wait to eat those delicious cakes that we are totally doing this fake couples thing for," I garbled, "Yum, cake. And stuff"

Fuckkkkk.

"Err yeah bro, about those cakes," Everett started, "We can keep doing that, for orders, you know."

Did he just call ME bro??

"But the, uh, counseling...there's only two sessions left, so we might as well...." I trailed off.

I didn't want to stop seeing him.

Everett brightened up, almost as if he realized what I was trying to say. "We can still hang out! We can go to the skating rink."

"The skating rink?"

"Yeah. Wanna go?"

He beamed at me, and it was brighter than the sun.