Baked Goods
Chapter One
“You’re a chemist!” Jamie cried out. “Baking’s like, just a domestic version of chemi—ah, I see.” She smirked. “That explains so much.”
“Now what do you mean by that?” Adelaide asked. She had a smear of flour dusting her tan cheeks and a glob of failed cookie batter stuck to her fingers. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Wait. Wait. You, you, the queen of the burnt Thanksgiving dinner biscuits, are telling me I’m not domestic? Well! I am certainly way more domestic than you are.”
Snickering, Jamie extracted a spatula from the lump of flour, sugar and eggs and waggled it in her lover’s face. “Does this look domestic to you?”
“Details,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.
“Hey, clean those grubby fingers of yours before you go flapping them around!”
“What, are you afraid to get a little dirty?” She gave a lecherous grin and cackled gleefully as Jamie’s face turned the same vibrant shade of scarlet as her hair.
Jamie spun around and started cleaning up the dirty bowls and utensils. Blushing furiously, she spluttered, “Fine, we’ll just buy something from the store and bring those because we both suck and—”
Adelaide reached out for her shoulder, but the other woman just evaded her touch and looked away. “Jamie,” she said softly. “Hey, darling…” When that didn’t work, she frowned. “Süße, please. Mausi.”
“No, okay?” Jamie still turned to face her, her eyes brimming with tears even as she so obviously fought against them. “You’re –” her voice cracked. Swallowing thickly, she tried again. “You’re right. Why did we even think this was a good idea?”
Hurt welled up in her chest. “Because I love you, that’s why. Because I love the way you laugh, the way you blush whenever I made a lewd joke, the way you can press all my buttons in just the right, the way you’re holding back laughter because you totally just made that into a sexual innuendo.” She trailed off, grinning, and wrapped Jamie into a hug. “I even like that you’re emotional and that you turn into a bloody rage monster whenever that time of the month rolls around. I like it when you’re a grouch in the morning and when you philosophize on the most inane things and act like a self-righteous bitch when you get it in your head you’re right—”
“Hey,” she protested weakly, but it lacked any hurt undertones to indicate she was actually upset.
“And that you never shut up. Like, wow, I must have gotten like one hundred words in before you interrupted, a new record. But what I love most of all?” She paused and took the time to study her girlfriend’s face, where she saw lingering signs of tears and sorrow but thankfully new curiosity and the beginning of a gentle smile.
Discomfited by the examination, Jamie squirmed in her arms and tilted her head to rest it in the crook of Adelaide’s shoulder. “What’s that?” she mumbled.
“I love you, Janae Marie Moorse, for all your faults and all your merits.”
“I love you too.” Her voice dropped to a husky contralto. “Do you want to go wash off all that flour, baby?” The oven beeped then and the couple broke apart with a startle. Jamie glared vindictively at the offending appliance. “You are such a cock-block, like oh my God!”
“Now what do you mean by that?” Adelaide asked. She had a smear of flour dusting her tan cheeks and a glob of failed cookie batter stuck to her fingers. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Wait. Wait. You, you, the queen of the burnt Thanksgiving dinner biscuits, are telling me I’m not domestic? Well! I am certainly way more domestic than you are.”
Snickering, Jamie extracted a spatula from the lump of flour, sugar and eggs and waggled it in her lover’s face. “Does this look domestic to you?”
“Details,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.
“Hey, clean those grubby fingers of yours before you go flapping them around!”
“What, are you afraid to get a little dirty?” She gave a lecherous grin and cackled gleefully as Jamie’s face turned the same vibrant shade of scarlet as her hair.
Jamie spun around and started cleaning up the dirty bowls and utensils. Blushing furiously, she spluttered, “Fine, we’ll just buy something from the store and bring those because we both suck and—”
Adelaide reached out for her shoulder, but the other woman just evaded her touch and looked away. “Jamie,” she said softly. “Hey, darling…” When that didn’t work, she frowned. “Süße, please. Mausi.”
“No, okay?” Jamie still turned to face her, her eyes brimming with tears even as she so obviously fought against them. “You’re –” her voice cracked. Swallowing thickly, she tried again. “You’re right. Why did we even think this was a good idea?”
Hurt welled up in her chest. “Because I love you, that’s why. Because I love the way you laugh, the way you blush whenever I made a lewd joke, the way you can press all my buttons in just the right, the way you’re holding back laughter because you totally just made that into a sexual innuendo.” She trailed off, grinning, and wrapped Jamie into a hug. “I even like that you’re emotional and that you turn into a bloody rage monster whenever that time of the month rolls around. I like it when you’re a grouch in the morning and when you philosophize on the most inane things and act like a self-righteous bitch when you get it in your head you’re right—”
“Hey,” she protested weakly, but it lacked any hurt undertones to indicate she was actually upset.
“And that you never shut up. Like, wow, I must have gotten like one hundred words in before you interrupted, a new record. But what I love most of all?” She paused and took the time to study her girlfriend’s face, where she saw lingering signs of tears and sorrow but thankfully new curiosity and the beginning of a gentle smile.
Discomfited by the examination, Jamie squirmed in her arms and tilted her head to rest it in the crook of Adelaide’s shoulder. “What’s that?” she mumbled.
“I love you, Janae Marie Moorse, for all your faults and all your merits.”
“I love you too.” Her voice dropped to a husky contralto. “Do you want to go wash off all that flour, baby?” The oven beeped then and the couple broke apart with a startle. Jamie glared vindictively at the offending appliance. “You are such a cock-block, like oh my God!”