Page 7 of Forbidden Daddy Mate
“Freya and I can keep ourselves entertained for a bit,” Malcolm said. “Worry more about yourselves than us.”
“We’re not the ones stuck in the middle of a snowstorm,” Jameson said. He sighed. “Damn, the kids are gonna be crushed.”
“We’ll reschedule,” Malcolm promised.
“All right,” Jameson responded. “I’ll let everyone know. But keep us posted on everything. If you need us to come help you, you know we’re there.”
“I know,” Malcolm said. “It’s why I keep you around.”
“Yeah, yeah. Oh, and Freya?”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“If Malcolm starts giving you a hard time, just give it back to him,” Jameson said. “He likes to act all tough, but he’s a pushover.”
“Watch it,” Malcolm growled in what sounded like an age-old ritual. “I trained you. I know how to kick your ass.”
“See what I mean?” Jameson said cheerfully. “Big ol’ softie. Anyway, keep us posted on what’s going on and if you need any help.”
“Will do,” I said. “Thanks.”
He hung up. A long pause filled the air between us. I stared down at the coffee mug in my hand, watching the coffee as it rippled every time I tapped my thumb. God, it shouldn’t be this awkward. But what was there to say to him? And what made it so awkward in the first place?
“So, we just wait for the snow to clear and hope the others get here?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Looks like it. I’m sure there’s something we can do to pass the time.”
As if on cue, or as if the universe decided to take pity on both of us, my stomach began growling.
Malcolm chuckled. “In that case, food might be in order.”
I walked over to the pantry and crouched, taking stock of everything we’d brought. “I was planning on making my cherry chocolate rum cake for Christmas day,” I said. “But I don’t see them getting here by then, and it’s a shame to let all those ingredients go to waste.”
“You bake?” Malcolm came to squat next to me.
I nodded. “It’s how I calm myself down after a rough day.”
He rubbed his stubble as he considered. “What sort of things do you bake?”
“Cakes and pastries, mostly,” I said. “I’d love to learn to make sourdough, but I don’t have a starter.”
“It’s easy enough to do,” he said. “I can show you. Or, hell, you can have some of mine. Otherwise, it’ll just go to waste the next time I feed it.”
I blinked, unable to hide my surprise. “You bake?”
“Found it was something relaxing that got my mind off all the fighting and spec-ops stuff,” he said. “It’s nice doing something with my hands that isn’t just fighting everyone. It’s a good outlet.”
I smiled, pleasantly surprised. At least we would have something to talk about.
“I like feeling like I’m creating something,” I said. “But also getting to enjoy it at the end of the day.” I glanced down at my body and gave a self-deprecatory smirk. “Maybe a little more than I should.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he looked me up and down in bewilderment. “First of all, you should never not enjoy baked goods,” he said. “And second of all, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
The compliment made me flush more, and I looked away, feeling redness creeping up my face. “Thanks,” I said, then coughed. “Anyway, I think I might make that. It’ll pass the time, and it’s absolutely delicious.”
“Hmm…cherry chocolate rum cake, you say?” he asked, and I nodded. He raised an eyebrow. “Want some help?”
My face heated for some inexplicable reason, and I nodded. “Sounds nice.”