Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Alexa, add carrots and cream cheese to my shopping list. Please,” Calum adds with a wince, feeling a little bad about commanding Alexa so harshly. It’s the panic, it makes him terse. Calum rarely panics, but he has kind of a cake emergency. He needs to figure out a carrot cake recipe for a wedding cake. A wedding cake he agreed to make without actually having a solid carrot cake recipe, because his brand new bakery needs all the income it can get, and wedding cakes bring in big bucks. 

Especially ones like this—last minute orders. Calum has a week to figure out this fucking wedding cake, and he’s taking out his stress on Alexa at 4 a.m. as he grabs a croissant off the kitchen counter, throws on his jacket and hightails it out the door. 

Another issue with a new bakery: limited budget for staff. Not only will Calum be spending his evenings attempting to sort out this carrot cake, he will be spending his mornings and afternoons keeping his damn bakery running with barely a minute to spare.

It’s going to be a long week.

“Alexa,” he calls over his shoulder breathlessly, one foot out the door. “Remind me to go to bed by ten.”

When he steps outside into the dark early morning, Calum immediately smacks directly into a human. He inhales sharply in surprise and receives a low and lazy “holy fuck” in response.

“Sorry,” Calum says, taking a step back, arms protectively in front of him while he tries to sort out if the large shadow man looming in front of him is a threat.

“No, I’m sorry. My fault,” the guy says, giggling brightly as he stumbles away from Calum, into the dull glow of Calum’s porch light. “I’m a little drunk.”

Oh, it’s just the guy that lives next door. Calum’s seen him around a few times, usually when they cross paths while walking their dogs. He seems friendly—he always smiles at Calum (more accurately, he smiles at Duke, but Calum can’t hold it against him), and mumbles a greeting of some kind, and he always picks up his dog’s poop, which basically makes him a saint in Calum’s book. He’s also spectacularly beautiful. Like, so much so that Calum generally avoids looking him in the eye because it might make him combust.

Right now, he smells like beer and is apparently still tipsy from a night out at 4 a.m. on a Sunday morning. For reasons unknown, Calum is charmed by the whole thing. Not so much the fact that his neighbor is coming home drunk at 4 a.m, but the fact that he’s doing it so sweetly. 

“It’s okay. Here.” Calum holds out his croissant, wrapped in a napkin. “Croissant. Homemade. You’ll probably need the carbs later.”

“You sure dude?” the guy asks, eyes lighting up with excitement as he gingerly takes the pastry, cradling it carefully in both hands. “I don’t wanna steal your breakfast.”

“Yeah,” Calum says with a shrug. “There are plenty more where I’m going.”

He watches one of the guy’s eyebrows quirk upwards and his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to figure out what kind of croissant-land Calum is venturing to without directly asking, which is as charming as the whole sweet-and-drunk thing he has going on. 

Unfortunately, by watching these infinitesimal expressions race across his face, Calum makes the mistake of looking at him for a little bit too long. Has his neighbor got more beautiful in the time since he last saw him? 

He swears everyone’s meant to look like shit at 4 a.m, whether you’re just getting in or just going out, but this fucking guy defies all the laws of society and physics and everything else. His curls are drooping down into his face probably by accident but seem perfectly placed, his lips are red and plump, his knife-sharp jawline is carelessly lined with just the right amount of scruff, and his eyelids are smudged everywhere with a messy swipe of gold glitter. His eyes. Calum is losing seconds if not weeks looking at them. They’re a little heavy and a lot hazy, framed with such ridiculously long lashes, and they glitter and shine at Calum as he pauses, with his lips already half turned up like he’s prepared to be delighted at any of Calum’s answers. 

Calum entertains an errant passing thought about whether the bride would be willing to go for a gold glitter dusting on top of the piped flower design for the godforsaken carrot cake and—

The fucking carrot cake. Fuck.

“Sorry I need to—uh,” Calum starts.

“Where are you—” his neighbor also begins.

The guy giggles again and Calum thinks he might just die. It’s a low giggle this time, a little rough, and it’s fucking maddening. 

“You go,” the guy says, while Calum is still busy being furious, with a little smile that makes an impressively deep dimple carve its way into his scruffy cheek. 

“Sorry,” Calum says again, and he is. He’s managed to have half a conversation with his super hot neighbor but at the most inconvenient time on the planet. Figures. “Nice seeing you—?”

He tails off again. Jesus Christ.

“It’s Luke,” drunk neighbor helpfully replies. “Thanks for the croissant—?”

“Calum.” 

Luke nods happily then wheels around to head towards his own door, still clutching the croissant so very carefully in both his large ringed hands. Calum watches him for a second, his limbs working a little slow but his ass looking a lot spectacular even in the porch lights, before checking his watch and swearing again. 

This carrot cake is already ruining his life and he hasn’t even started making it yet.

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

While Calum weighs and measures and mixes, dictating recipe notes into his phone along the way, he thinks about Luke.

He wonders how Luke might look eating his croissant. Will he wake up, still covered in glitter, hair a mess, and sleepily stuff it in his mouth while he stands over the kitchen counter with bleary eyes? As he chews, will his face settle into more captivating little expressions? Will he make approving noises if he likes it? Will he get flakes of pastry stuck in the corners of his lips?

It’s meditative, almost, a soothing contemplation to help Calum power through three different variations of a base carrot cake recipe before the bakery even opens. 

Does Luke like carrot cake? Because Calum sure as fuck is gonna have plenty to spare.

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

He’s delirious from exhaustion. That’s the only explanation for why, when Calum gets home that afternoon, he walks right past his door and knocks on Luke’s instead. It swings open with startling speed.

“Well hello there,” Luke says smoothly in a low rasp, squinting into the sun as he looks down at Calum with a tiny grin on his lips. “Nice to see my new favorite croissant dealer.”

There are still a few remnants of gold glitter around his eyes, but otherwise, all visible traces of his night out have vanished. Freshly washed hair, curls still damp. An oversized T-shirt hanging slightly off one shoulder. Eyes clear, sparkling blue, and focused intently on Calum.

And holy fuck, that look is almost enough for Calum to drop the container of carrot cake in his hands. Luke’s looking at Calum like—like no one else on the planet is more important. Like he’s a little bit in love with Calum. Like he wants to eat Calum. 

Is that just how he looks at people? Jesus.

“One croissant and you’re an addict?” Calum asks coolly, forcing himself to meet Luke’s eyes. 

What the fuck is he doing here, anyway? He has shit to do. He has to go to the grocery store and buy more carrots, and then come home and bake more carrots, and then fall asleep at ten smelling like carrots. He doesn’t have time to waste on staring into bewitching blue eyes.

Luke grins and shrugs. It makes his shirt slip even further off his shoulder, exposing a lovely slice of smooth skin at the base of his neck. “It was a really good croissant.” 

He’s eyeing the container in Calum’s hands hopefully, and Calum shakes his head, lips pressed together tightly to contain his smile. Maybe it’s not Calum Luke’s ravenous for after all. “How do you feel about carrot cake?”

The hopeful look on Luke’s face quickly twists into grim disgust, but then he seems to catch himself and make a halfhearted attempt to steady it before giving up and smiling guiltily. “Not great?”

Oh no. Something about that initial disgusted look makes Calum’s heart sink through the soles of his shoes into Luke’s porch, and the delirium that got him to the door in the first place returns full force. “You’re right. It sucks. Carrot cake sucks. There’s nothing I’ll ever be able to do to make it good. I’m going to make the worst wedding cake of all time. Every single guest is going to spit it out with disgust then hunt me down and throw it at me.” 

“Whoa, easy there,” Luke says, eyes widening in concern at Calum’s sudden breakdown. Fuck, now he’s frightening his hot neighbor. “It’s not that bad. I’m sure you can do a great job!”

Oh god, this is awful, Luke looks so earnest, like it’s really important to him that Calum doesn’t slip into a deep depression about a carrot cake that he doesn’t know anything about. Or care about. Why is he even here? He’s meant to be elbow deep in carrots! 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” Calum says quickly. “Ignore me, I came around for normal reasons. And I make carrot cake for normal baker related reasons. Like my job.”

“You’re a baker?” Luke says with delight, and Calum nods, but then his brow furrows again, like it's still his responsibility to make sure Calum is fine. His eyes are even wider and more beguiling than they were five minutes ago. “I don’t like carrot cake but… I bet you’re so good you could make a carrot cake I’d like!”

“Is that a challenge?” Calum asks with a slow smile. Luke’s face mirrors Calum’s, his lips spreading enough for just a peek of his teeth to appear between his lips. For some unknown reason, that glimpse of teeth is enough to settle the carrot cartwheeling anxiety in Calum’s stomach.

“That’s not what I said,” Luke says, shaking his head, curls whipping into his face. “But I will try. If you make one. The croissant was really delicious.”

“Oh Luke,” Calum says. “There’s going to be more than one.”

“Great!” Luke says, perfectly dry, and Calum laughs loudly.

“Start with this,” Calum says, passing the box into Luke’s hands. “And if it's really disgusting I’ll pay you back in another croissant tomorrow.” 

“Is that a promise?” Luke says, the hopeful look returning.

“Or a threat,” Calum says with a shrug. “I have to go buy carrots.”

Luke looks down at the container in his hand, then back up at Calum, confusion in his eyes. “You’re making more cake now? Already?” 

“After I buy carrots,” Calum confirms with a steady nod. “I need to figure out a recipe this week. No time to waste. Late nights.”

“Right,” Luke says, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “Late nights making carrot cakes.”

All Calum can manage in response is a manic shrug.

“And you just got home? From baking all day?”

Calum offers Luke a dead-eyed grin.

Quietly, Luke says, “I promise I won’t throw this cake at you if I don’t like it.” He’s still got the little teasing smile on his face, but his voice is almost unbearably gentle.

Something about it soothes Calum’s psyche. The tension drains from his shoulders, his jaw unclenches, and he sighs gratefully. “Thank you. Now I really have to go buy carrots.”

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

“I really have to go buy carrots?” Calum mumbles under his breath, incredulous, and disgusted with himself for letting his carrot cake panic get in the way of effectively flirting with Luke. He could’ve at least managed to slide in some sort of carrot-related innuendo. He could’ve said, with a suggestive smirk, “Let’s not completely veto the idea of you smothering cake all over me.” 

At least the carrot aggression is helping Calum along with grating them efficiently, bent over his kitchen counter several hours later, eyes drooping with exhaustion and back and shoulders protesting the amount of standing they’ve been subjected to in the last 24 hours. He’s covered in cake batter and his fingers are stained orange and he might be dehydrated, but he’s getting closer. He can feel it.

The sharp ding of the doorbell sends Duke skittering off the couch and across the living room. There’s this sound he makes that’s not quite a bark, and not quite a growl, but somewhere in between, and Calum thinks it appropriately sums up his own current emotional state. Grrph.

Wiping his hands on his apron, Calum abandons his half-shredded carrot and scoops up Duke under one arm. When he opens his door, he’s greeted by a bottle of wine, held by a lovely, ring-adorned hand.

“Thought maybe you could use this.” Luke’s dressed to go out again, glittery eyes and tight pants and a leather jacket over a tiny T-shirt, and Calum is half a second away from crying over how good he looks. The goddamn carrot cake is making him insane.

“So I can numb the pain when you tell me how much you hated the cake?” Calum asks, taking in the way Luke is biting the corner of his bottom lip apprehensively.

Luke gives Calum a wide grin, all those lovely teeth on display, and thrusts the bottle of wine at him. “To relax. Take the edge off the carrot cake blues.”

“All I’m hearing is that you didn’t like the cake. This is your nice way of telling me I’m going to need to make a shitload more carrot cakes to get anything close to something you like.”

Luke bursts into laughter and Calum chokes on air. Is he for real? He’s so fucking cute, throwing his head back, curls bouncing, smile so huge Calum could surely stick several carrots in his mouth, and his laugh is gloriously loud and raucous. Calum can feel it in his chest, squeezing his heart until it releases a stream of happy chemicals into his bloodstream. 

And there it is again, that sudden feeling of calm relief. As if Luke isn’t just perfect enough by being, he also is able to be Calum’s personal endorphin machine. Perfect. 

“That’s not what I said,” Luke says, biting his lip again. 

“You didn’t have to,” Calum says. “And I won’t make you, I’ll just drink this lovely wine instead and get back to my carrots.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Luke says, smirking slightly now. Goddamn. “Don’t drown!”

“In the wine?” Calum asks, frowning, so dazed by smirky, glittery, wine-providing Luke that he’s not sure all his synapses are firing effectively. 

“In the carrots,” Luke says, with another smirk. “I should go and leave you to your fun-filled evening.”

“Thanks so much,” Calum says, shaking his head. “Have a good night, Luke.”

“Bye Calum,” Luke says, then steps forward to gently place his hand in front of Duke’s nose, allowing him to sniff him before gently scratching behind his ear. “Bye baby.”

Calum’s insides melt at the sounds of Luke’s gentle dog voice; he probably doesn’t have any internal organs anymore because they’ve all become some kind of disgusting mush in the cavern of his ribs. 

“Say bye to Luke, buddy!” Calum says, bouncing Duke up and down in his arm slightly which he’s sure Duke is thrilled at, and looking down towards his furry head rather than trying to look at Luke in the face again. Too high risk. He glances up just in time to see Luke smiling warmly at him before he gives Calum a very small wave with his very large hand and turns to leave.

“You’ll get more carrot cake soon!” Calum calls at his retreating back.

“Can’t wait!” Luke responds, in a tone that Calum can’t even decipher whether it’s serious or not. 

Calum stands shaking his head in his doorway, one hand on Duke and one hand on the wine. Still too much carrot-based discussion, but Duke really brought it back for him. He owes the little dude, and asks Alexa to put the fancy treats on his shopping list. And more carrots.

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

Admittedly, Calum drinks slightly too much of the wine that Luke brought over. He knew it at the time, but it doesn’t make 3:30 a.m. any kinder to him as he rolls out of bed. 

He stands for at least thirty seconds in the middle of his kitchen, gazing at the destruction, like if he looks at it long enough it might vanish when he blinks. It doesn’t. He sighs heavily and swipes the container off the worktop, a carefully wrapped croissant on top, and gets himself out of his front door, hoodie hood up around his ears.

There’s no sign of Luke, so he quietly heads up to his door and places the goodies on the doorstep, tucked slightly behind a plant pot. He pauses halfway back to his car, waffling over if he should leave Luke a note, then laughs to himself quietly in the morning air. Who the fuck else is leaving Luke croissants and boxes of carrot cake? 

When Calum gets to the bakery and flicks the lights on in the kitchen, he half expects to see piles of discarded carrot peels and dirty mixing bowls cluttering the counters and filling the industrial sink. But unlike his own kitchen, he can’t in good conscience leave the bakery kitchen a disaster, and past Calum diligently cleaned up his mess so present Calum could sigh in relief. Small victories.

As he starts gathering his ingredients and utensils, Calum pulls up his Alexa notes to review the recipe tweaks he wants to try today. His eyes trip over a note that is decidedly not related to his recipe and he frowns in confusion.

Early morning enigma

Carrot dick joke

Delicious lips

Hmm. Weird. Did he somehow say that thing about carrot innuendo out loud for Alexa to hear? Maybe. Anything is possible in his carrot cake-induced mania. With a shrug, Calum opens his recipe notes and gets to work, dismissing the strange note and focusing on his spice measurements. Maybe a dash of ginger will make all the difference.

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

A dash of ginger did not make all the difference. Calum trudges home that afternoon with another armload of carrots. He glances at Luke’s door on his way in, smiling to himself when he notices the cake and croissant are gone. As he pushes his door open, Luke’s door swings open too, and Calum gasps, clutching his bag of carrots protectively against his chest.

“Sorry,” Luke says, bright eyes twinkling at Calum when he pokes his head out from inside his apartment. “Didn’t mean to scare you, just wanted to make sure I caught you before you disappeared into your carrot cave.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me that you absolutely adored today’s carrot cake, and I should stop fucking around with the recipe and commit to that one because it’s perfect?” There are carrots obscuring Calum’s view of Luke’s face, because of course there are. They ruin everything.

“Honestly?” Luke says, slinking further out his door and leaning against the frame. “I’m not sure this is a good plan. If I don’t like carrot cake, how can I judge it? I wouldn’t know a good carrot cake if it magically appeared on my doorstep with a croissant on top.” He smiles, eyebrows bouncing in amusement. “I don’t think I can be trusted. My favorite carrot cake will be the one that’s least like carrot cake. Which kind of defeats the purpose.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Calum says with a smile. “But unfortunately I’m too stubborn. You’ve provided me with a challenge and now I’m just gonna have to keep going even if the carrots eventually kill me.”

“Don’t say that,” Luke says quickly, concern flickering over his face again at the mention of the carrot depression. Then he sees the smile twitching at the edge of Calum’s lip, and he shakes his head and huffs a laugh out of his nose.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to keep giving you carrot cake and you’re going to keep eating it because you feel sorry for me, and one day, you’re going to enjoy it,” Calum says. He’s not sure where this bravado has come from, maybe from multiple instances of seeing Luke in a row. Maybe this is how people feel when they run every day. 

Luke looks positively gleeful that Calum’s going to basically force feed him carrot cake for the foreseeable and Jesus Christ, how is he meant to deal with this? How is he meant to see Luke frequently and talk to him and not become unreasonably infatuated? This is hell.

“But if you’re asking me to provide you with a cake that’s opposite to carrot cake, I can do that too,” Calum says, watching Luke’s open and warm face around all the carrots. 

“No way,” Luke says. “You’re already feeding me cake and croissants, you have way too much on your plate.”

Calum nods, that is true, although he was already whipping up a recipe for a perfectly light vanilla sponge with raspberry filling for Luke to enjoy in his head. 

“Fine, just more carrot cake then,” Calum says.

“Looking forward to it!” Luke says in that jovial tone that Calum still hasn’t quite figured out, before smiling again and letting his door swing closed.

Calum takes a deep breath on his doorstep. Maybe if he whisks the eggs and the oil first and then incorporates the dry ingredients and the carrots he can lift the texture. 

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

Progress. Calum is making progress. He knows it. 

He fights the niggling thought that he’s just made a deliciously light, perfectly spiced cake that is being infiltrated by unnecessary carrots, and snaps the lid onto the box for Luke. He doesn’t think it’s there, but he’s done something. 

He dictates more notes to his Alexa, for tomorrow when he’s at the bakery, and cleans his kitchen. He might even get more than five hours of sleep tonight. 

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

When he comes to check said note the next day, while increasing the baking powder, he finds another note that he’s almost positive he didn’t make. He was pretty much in his right mind last night.

Sexy and stubborn

Bump into him on a dog walk?

Frosting as an innuendo

What the fuck?

There’s absolutely no way Calum left those notes, and yet it also feels like there’s absolutely no way he didn’t leave those notes. The odds of some random person somehow accessing his Alexa notes and also being the sort of person to contemplate frosting innuendo are extremely slim. 

Is he sleepwalking? It’s a real fear of his, living alone, that he’s going to develop some bizarre sleep habit and not know about it until he winds up, like, knocking on Luke’s door holding a butcher knife in the middle of the night, dead asleep.

Luke. How is Calum going to make a carrot cake Luke actually likes? And why is he being so goddamn stubborn about it when Luke gave him an easy out? It’s not like making Luke the perfect carrot cake comes with the prize of Luke himself. Which is, unfortunately, exactly what Calum’s brain has convinced him to believe. Like if he can crack the carrot cake code, Luke will suddenly just be like, “Oh Calum, this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever eaten, I’ve never wanted someone so badly, take me now!”

That will be the next thing, then. After Calum sorts out the carrot cake, he’ll sort out the Luke situation. There’s no time for it now, with his cake deadline looming.

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

The woman manning the self checkouts at the grocery store probably thinks Calum’s entire diet consists of carrots. It’s the same woman every afternoon when he stops in after work to restock on carrots. He should just buy an obscene amount all at once, but that feels like admitting defeat. Like giving up all hope that the next recipe he tries will be the one.

It’s with this in mind that he selects three bags of carrots from the produce section and drops them into his basket next to his cream cheese. A compromise. When he spins around to march to the checkout, Luke is standing there, right beneath a sign for grapefruit that says Big, Juicy, and Sweet!

“I think your carrot cake is worming its way into my subconscious,” he says, tilting his head as he reviews the contents of Calum’s basket. “Somehow I wound up with carrots on my grocery list. I never buy just carrots.”

Seeing Luke outside of the context of the several feet of space outside their front doors is challenging to manage for several reasons. Mainly because it makes him real. “I didn’t know you left the house when the sun was up,” Calum says, shuffling over to Luke to make room for a woman with a massive race car-shaped shopping cart containing a screaming child and a years’ supply of applesauce to roll past.

“Only sometimes,” Luke says, grimacing at the dulcet tones of the now puce-colored child being wheeled away. “I have to be careful otherwise I burst into flames.” 

Calum laughs. “How is the daylight treating you so far?”

“Too bright,” Luke says, squinting his eyes. Then the corner of his lips hitches upwards slightly. “But it's just taken a real uptick in vibes just now.” 

Calum focuses on picking an orange up from the display next to Luke to keep his cool over the slight suggestion that Luke might be pleased to see him. Hm. Orange zest might be good in the frosting. 

“Orange zest might be good in the frosting,” he says. Out loud.

“What frosting?” Luke says, leaning back on the citrus display with one hand. 

“My frosting,” Calum says, dropping three oranges into his cart next to the carrots and selecting one more he likes the look of. He gives it a squeeze and a quick sniff. 

“Your frosting?” Luke asks, one of his eyebrows dancing upwards. “Delicious.”

Calum chokes on his own saliva and the orange falls out of his hand, rolling sadly off the display and onto the floor. “I mean. My cake frosting. For the cake. You know, the carrot cake I’m making.”

“I know,” Luke says with a serene smile, squatting down to pick up the errant orange and popping back up to offer it to Calum. Good lord, Calum was conversing for all of two minutes before having a stroke, he shouldn’t be allowed to interact with Luke outside the safety zone of his own home. He should attempt to bring this back with a normal non-carrot related topic. 

“Is 4 a.m. a usual waking time for you?” Calum says, watching Luke move along to survey some lemons.

“Yes, actually,” Luke says, still smiling. “I’m not always going out though, sometimes I’m working.”

“What do you do?” Calum asks curiously. This is good, this is normal getting to know you type stuff. Calum is killing it. 

“I’m a writer,” Luke says, placing a lemon in his own cart. “I tend to be most inspired at night.” 

“Can’t relate,” Calum says, shaking his head. He doesn’t need anything else from the produce section, but he’s unwilling to leave even though he should really be getting on. He likes watching Luke in his brown-ish check pants and white T-shirt roam around the grocery store. Actually, he’d quite like to follow him around and watch what he buys, if that were at all acceptable and not stalker-ish.

“Being a morning person comes with the job, does it?” Luke asks. He also doesn’t seem to want to rush off, content to lounge near the lemons looking like some kind of poster boy for citrus. 

“I haven’t been awake past midnight in about three years.” Calum says. “What kinds of things are you writing in the middle of the night while I’m fast asleep?”

“A little of this, a little of that,” Luke replies cryptically, a tiny smile on his lips. “I write freelance for some magazines. Right now I’m also working on something else. I’m not sure what it will turn into… maybe a short story, maybe a novel, if the carrots keep my creativity high.”

“Someday we’re going to need to have a conversation where the word carrot is banned.”

“I know,” Luke says with a wry chuckle. “It’s starting to lose all meaning. But it’s pretty hard to have carrot cake without carrots.”

“Unfortunately,” Calum agrees, frowning at his basket full of carrots. Actually. Maybe Luke is onto something. Not a carrot cake without carrots, exactly, but maybe one where the carrots are more subtle. Less carrot-y. A slow smile spreads across his face and he catches Luke’s eye excitedly. “You just gave me a fantastic idea.”

“Did I?” Luke seems both delighted and bemused by Calum’s declaration, eyebrows arching as he tilts his head to the side.

Nodding vigorously, Calum starts to shuffle away, knowing he needs to tear himself away from Luke so he can get home and get to work before he actually does get sucked into following Luke around the store. He points at Luke and declares, “Tomorrow morning, you’re going to find the best goddamn carrot cake you’ve ever had waiting by your door.”

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

The carrots are cursed. They must be. Calum doesn’t deserve this. His fucking oven is staging a labor protest. It won’t heat. It’s on, yes. Calum can set the temperature he wants and see it on the display. But no matter how long he waits, the damn thing stays exactly the same temperature as the rest of the kitchen. 

And he waited a long fucking time. Mostly out of denial. But now he has to face the truth — his oven simply cannot bear the thought of making another carrot cake. He can’t even be angry about it. The poor thing has been overworked all week, just like Calum. He can barely blame it for needing a rest.

In lieu of physically fighting his oven, he takes Duke on a quick walk to try to clear his head a little, enjoying the carrot-colored sunset and contemplating his options. He could go back to the bakery. Spend a couple hours there and possibly grind out a usable wedding cake recipe tonight. 

Or, he could give up entirely for the night, stay home, and fall asleep watching Netflix on his couch. That option certainly sounds more appealing. If his oven has earned a break, so has he. But it’s also not very responsible. He’s running out of time fast.

He kicks a pebble into the street moodily and huffs out a dramatic sigh. He’ll get over it soon. But god damn he’s going to look dramatically into the sunset while Duke takes a poop for a moment first. 

Okay, plan of attack as a responsible human. Pick up shit, check oven one last time, go to bakery. Maybe sleep at bakery and cut out the additional travel, he can probably fashion some kind of bed behind the counter with the seat cushions. How depressing.

Just as Calum’s standing up straight again, poop bag in hand, and contemplating his existence on this earth, a guardian angel appears from the glow of the sunset. Luke rounds the corner, just in front of him, walking his dog. 

Angelic is really the only way to describe him, back-lit by the golden sun, his hair like a curly halo around his head as he bobs towards him. A guardian angel with a nice leather jacket and a large dog. Calum feels acutely aware that he’s currently in gym shorts and sliders and literally has a handful of shit, as Luke glides into view all done up with his glittery eyes and shiny nails.

“Hello again!” Luke sounds positively delighted at the sight of Calum, which seems entirely unrealistic. “What a good day I’m having.”

“Hey,” Calum says, even his terrible mood is easily overcome with the smile on Luke’s face and his soft voice in the evening air. That feeling of calm settles in him again, maybe he is going to figure this out. “I thought you didn’t always go out.”

“I don’t,” Luke says airily, crouching down to say hello to Duke. “But I happen to be tonight, just taking Piggy out for a walk first.”

“Sure,” Calum says, shaking his head. He really wishes he had somewhere to deposit this bag of poop. 

“How’s the cake?” Luke asks, looking up from his squat. “Did that idea work? Did you make the best carrot cake ever?”

Calum scoffs. “Nope,” he says, popping the P. “Oven’s fucked.” 

“Shit, really?” Luke says, standing up and looking genuinely concerned. Not the genuine concern again, it’s like Calum’s kryptonite looking at Luke’s big earnest eyes. 

“Yeah,” Calum says, going to run a hand through his hair then remembering the bag at the last second and just swinging it around in front of them. “I should probably get someone to come and look at it but I don’t really have time.” 

Luke looks at him thoughtfully for a second while his dog snuffles around Duke curiously and Duke looks on with disdain. 

“I have an idea,” Luke says with a smile, a really big one that makes his eyes crinkle and both dimples appear and his teeth glint in the dying light of the day. “I think I can help.”

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

It’s not that Calum had forgotten about Luke’s amazing ass since he noticed it on Sunday morning. He just hasn’t really had a chance to see much of it again since. And now, he’s being rewarded handsomely for his patience.

“Looks like your heating element,” Luke says into Calum’s oven. “I can replace it, easy. Just need to run to the store for a new one.” He’s on his knees, his torso disappearing into the depths of Calum’s oven while his ass is just there, perfectly displayed by Luke’s tight going-out pants. How is Calum meant to care about the state of his oven when he can see such sensational cheek definition before his very eyes?

“Calum?” Luke prods, glancing back over his shoulder at Calum. “Do you want me to fix it?”

Calum shakes his head helplessly. “I’m sorry, what did you say? I was distracted looking at your ass.”

Luke’s head drops forward as he laughs brightly, and he carefully crawls his way out of Calum’s oven, scooting backwards until he can safely pop his head out. “I said,” he repeats, spinning around and flopping on the kitchen floor at Calum’s feet, “You need a new heating element. I can replace it if I run to Home Depot to get a new one. It’s cheap and fast.” He grins up at Calum slyly, leaning back on his hands. “And you’ll get another chance to stare at my ass when I swap it out.” The glitter on his eyelids winks at Calum flirtatiously. 

When Luke said he knew a thing or two about ovens, at first Calum thought it was just one of his dry jokes. Even as he watched Luke walk into his apartment holding a toolbox, he wasn’t entirely convinced. But now Luke’s staring at him, saying words that seem like they probably make sense, waiting expectantly for Calum’s direction. Wow, his shoulders look so nice like this, when he’s reclined back slightly, emphasizing how broad they are.

“You can really fix it?” Calum asks, thinking surely this is too good to be true. Ten minutes ago he was planning to spend his night sleeping at the bakery, and now Luke the secret handyman is going to fix his oven quickly and cheaply while inviting Calum to ogle his ass? He’s never this lucky.

“I can,” Luke confirms, resting his head against the cabinet where Calum keeps his cake tins. “Once I have the part, it’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Okay, yes,” Calum says, trying to kick his brain back into problem-solving mode. “I can work on grating the carrots and getting the batter together while you’re out. Get a head start so I can really focus on your ass once you get back.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Luke says with a smirk, still reclined temptingly at Calum’s feet. Carrots. That’s what he needs to concentrate on. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be going out?” Calum asks as Luke dons his leather jacket again, digging in his pocket for his keys. “I don’t want to mess with your plans.” 

“I’m not late yet,” Luke says with another small smile. “No one will miss me for a while.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Calum says, everyone must be waiting for Luke to get there, surely. “But I appreciate this so much.”

“And I appreciate the croissants,” Luke says with a shrug. “It’s fine Calum, honestly, I’ll be back in like twenty minutes.”

“Are you telling me you don’t appreciate the carrot cake?” Calum calls towards the door as Luke makes his exit.

All he hears is a raucous laugh in response. 

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

Calum is concentrating. There’s no saying where his brain will go when Luke gets back on his knees when he comes back, so he needs to set himself up for success. He’s going to approach this methodically. 

Three cakes, three batches of carrots, to figure it out. His normal box grater size versus a super fine grater versus blitzing the carrots in his processor, and he will get the prime carrot size to make a less carrot-y carrot cake. 

He sets up the ingredients for his cakes in bowls down his counter and then gets back on the carrot prep. He will be fucking grateful when he stops finding little flakes of carrot behind every appliance he owns, on all of his clothes and even in Duke’s fur. Blending the carrots produces a carrot mush that he’s not sure is going to be at all successful, but he has high hopes for the fine grater, he just wishes it didn’t take nearly five minutes to get through each carrot. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Luke’s voice calls from the hallway as Calum’s front door opens and closes. 

“There you are!” Calum says. He poses at the kitchen counter, hand on hip and waving a spatula in Luke’s direction. “I’ve been working hard all day in the kitchen for you.”

“I can see that,” Luke says, grinning at Calum, a box tucked under his arm, and his curls slightly awry from the wind outside. “Hope you’ve cooked me up something delicious, honeypie.”

“Get that oven going again and we’ll see,” Calum says, jabbing his spatula in the poor overworked oven’s direction. 

Luke salutes and gets to work, sitting on the floor in front of Calum’s oven and pulling what is apparently a heating element out of the box he came in with. “Once I’ve figured this out it will be ass viewing time again, just preparing you.”

“Oh, I’m prepared, don’t worry,” Calum assures him, spooning the last of cake batter contestant number one into a tin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more focused on a recipe in my life. Maybe I need to hire you to hang out at the bakery all day and tempt me with your ass so I can actually get shit done efficiently and collect my reward.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Luke says, setting the heating element on Calum’s kitchen table and shrugging off his jacket to hang over the back of a chair. “Easy money, and I could probably get a lot of writing done at the bakery.” 

He climbs to his feet and grips the sides of the stove, pulling it away from the wall with surprising ease. Then he dusts off his hands, grins at Calum, and announces, “Okay, here we go. Time for the first show.” Suddenly he’s diving behind the stove, body hanging over the corner of the counter, ass not just on display, but also at the perfect height for Calum to really consider some scenarios while Luke grunts with the effort of reaching the outlet and unplugging the oven.

“You got it?” Calum asks halfheartedly, leaning against the counter to get a better view, elbow connecting with a dirty mixing bowl.

“Got it!” Luke replies victoriously, popping back up with curls bouncing into his eyes. “I might’ve stayed down there a little longer than I needed.” He raises an eyebrow as he slips past Calum and starts digging into his toolbox on the table.

“Thank you,” Calum says, genuinely touched. Luke gave him a little extra ass just to be nice! Wonders never cease. “How do you know how to do this shit anyway?”

Luke turns around, drill in hand, and wow, there really is something about a huge, beautiful, glittery man holding a drill, painted fingernails shining in bright contrast against the black handle. “It’s just a hobby, I guess,” Luke says, pressing the button on the drill so a high-pitched whine pierces the air. “I’ve always been good at fixing things.”

Fixing Calum’s oven, fixing Calum’s cake, fixing Calum’s frayed nerves. “You could make so much money being a hot handyman,” he says, eyes following along as Luke opens the oven and drops back onto the floor.

“Maybe,” Luke says, glancing up at Calum with a crooked smirk on his face. “But then I’d have to charge you for this.” He leans into the oven, drill in hand, wiggling his ass a little for emphasis.

Calum can only laugh and shake his head. “It’d be worth the price.”

The whine of the drill resumes, and Luke raises his voice so Calum can hear him. “I’m sure we could work out some kind of bartering system. You could pay me in croissants or sex or brownies.”

He says it so casually, it takes a second for Calum’s cake batter brain to catch up, but once it does, his stomach tingles pleasantly and an uncontrollable grin takes over his face. “I can’t help but notice you didn’t include carrot cake as an option.”

“Isn’t that the purpose of this exercise?” Luke asks in a pause in his drilling, and Calum swears he’s tensing and relaxing his glutes on purpose right now. “Right now it’s not carrot cake, but maybe after tonight carrot cake will be on the table. Alongside the brownies and sex.” 

The sound of the drill saves Calum from having to come up with a witty and flirty response that casually demonstrates just how much he’d like to have sex with Luke. He’s got too many carrots in his head right now. 

He lets Luke carry on in the oven, and attempts to focus on starting the next batter, but does so at an angle where Luke’s bouncing ass is still in his line of vision. Bouncing! Just as he drills! 

All too soon Luke’s head appears again out of the oven, and although Calum is already lamenting the loss of his ass, as far as a replacement goes, his face is a pretty good one. He spins around to face Calum, looking up at him happily from the floor. 

“There, all secured” Luke says, pleased, pressing the drill again in celebration. “What should I drill next?”

“I have a suggestion,” Calum says, shrugging with what he’s sure is a manic look in his eyes. “But maybe later.” 

Luke laughs again, throwing his head back and his mouth opening wider than Calum’s ever seen it, his voice squeaking and gasping as he does so, like a normal laughing sound isn’t quite enough to communicate the level of his joy. 

“Let’s test it first, shall we,” Luke says, getting to his feet. “Before we get ahead of ourselves.” 

He quickly shimmies the stove back into place to plug it back into the outlet, and Calum doesn’t even have time to offer to help before Luke is back stretched over the counter, making some more noises that Calum’s not sure are entirely necessary. Definitely not if the smirk Luke throws him as he steps back again is any measure. 

“Okay, here we go,” Luke says. “Give me a drum roll, Calum.”

Calum dutifully uses his spatula and whisk to tap out a rhythm on the edge of the counter as Luke turns the dials on his oven. He waits a moment, encouraging Calum to continue, before opening the door and sticking his hand in.

“We have warmth!” Luke shouts dramatically, lifting his hands in an upwards motion like he’s celebrating his discovery of fire. Calum cheers loudly, giving Luke an exuberant round of applause as he does a series of elaborate bows. 

“You’ve actually saved my life,” Calum says seriously after he’s managed to stop laughing at Luke’s theatrics. “I owe you, honestly. And something better than shitty carrot cake.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke says, falling into the chair where his jacket is hanging. “I’m invested now. I need you to get this recipe right so I can stop eating carrot cake every day.”

“Finally it comes out,” Calum says, shaking his head in mock disapproval while Luke relaxes in the afterglow of his oven repair victory, slumping down in the chair and running his hand through his hair to push it off his forehead. “I promise this will be the last carrot cake you’ll ever have to eat. One of these is going to be right, I can feel it.”

“Can you?” Luke smiles curiously. “Maybe I should stick around, then. Experience this earth-shattering occasion firsthand.”

“Stay here? What about your plans?” Calum shakes a whisk in Luke’s direction, indicating his outfit and makeup and styled hair. “You’re all done up.” Something which Calum is still trying steadfastly to ignore, seeing as he continues to be rocking his sexiest pair of gym shorts.

“Eh,” Luke shrugs, lips twisting at the corner of his mouth. “I’d rather stay here and see how the cake turns out. Unless I’m bothering you,” he adds quickly, eyes widening. “I can get out of your way.”

“No, it’s okay.” If Luke wants to stay, Calum’s certainly not going to argue with him. “It would be nice to have some non-carrot company for a change.” 

Luke smiles gratefully, like Calum’s done him a favor, apparently forgetting he spent the last thirty minutes fixing Calum’s oven and giving him a peep show. “Do you want a drink or something?” Calum asks, figuring now that the hard part of his work is done, he deserves to get out the wine.

“Definitely,” Luke says, bending down to tug off his boots. It’s nice, watching him settle in and get comfortable in Calum’s kitchen. It’s an important place to Calum, and seeing how happily Luke fits into it is reassuring. As he sets his boots against the wall, he looks up at Calum through his unreasonably long lashes. “What’ve you got?”

He may as well own up to it. “Four bottles of the wine you brought over the other night.”

Luke laughs, a pleased smile lighting up his eyes. “You liked it?”

“Loved it. And it made me feel better to get more bottles of wine than bags of carrots at the store today.”

Mid-laugh, Luke’s breath catches on a surprised wheeze and he chokes out, “That’s kinda fucked up.”

Calum mumbles glumly, “Tell me about it. Now the lady working self checkout doesn’t just think I’m the weird guy with the carrot fetish, I’m also the weird guy who bathes in wine.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Luke says, just as the oven beeps loudly to indicate it’s preheated. “Can bathing in wine be part of the celebration when you get this cake right?”

“Maybe,” Calum says, as he reaches up to pull some wine glasses out of a cupboard above his head. “I’d be open to a slightly different combination of wine and being naked.”

“You make a good point,” Luke says, resting his chin in his hand and watching Calum with a little glint in his eyes. “And you’re sure we have to wait till after the cake?”

“Unfortunately,” Calum says grimly, opening the now fantastically, amazingly hot oven and quickly sliding the cake inside, and kicking the door closed with his foot. “But don’t worry, only two more to go!” 

“Pass me the wine,” Luke says, making grabby hands towards Calum. “Now. Please.”

Calum laughs at Luke’s eagerness and sets down the bottle and the glasses next to him. He turns back to get a corkscrew out of his utensil drawer but Luke’s voice interrupts him. 

“I’ve got this,” Luke says brightly, starting to open the bottle. “Get on with the cake.”

Calum quite enjoys Luke bossing him about in his own kitchen, as he sits with his legs relaxed open, lounging in Calum’s dining chair. He watches Luke deftly open the wine with a corkscrew on his keychain, gripping the bottle firmly as he smoothly removes the cork. Calum should not find that as incredibly appealing as he does, but Luke opening wine in an extremely proficient manner is making his head start thinking all sorts of things about what else Luke could proficiently grip. 

“Are you ordering me around?” Calum asks, tearing his eyes away from the spectacle, he could really do with managing to focus on the cakes for just an hour or two longer, otherwise all this time, although spent pretty nicely with Luke here, will be for absolutely nothing. 

“If you’d like me to,” Luke says with one of his little half smiles, pouring the glasses and sliding one across the table towards Calum. “Would that make me most helpful?”

“I’m not sure,” Calum says, tapping his glass gently against Luke’s when he offers it to him. “You could, you know, actually help.”

He doesn’t actually need Luke to help him, and it will be as fast if not faster if Calum just powers through the last of the batters, but he’s intrigued if Luke’s general capability extends as far as cooking or if it ends at drills and corkscrews. 

Luke stills after taking a sip from his glass. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” he says, almost too casually.

Calum watches him take another sip with a grin. “Why not?” he asks, taking a drink out of his own glass.

“The last time I tried to bake I ended up just throwing away a cookie sheet full of toxic sludge. Also, you’re very distracting.” He eyes Calum meaningfully as he takes another drink. “And I suspect you’ll be even more distracting after a couple more glasses of wine.”

“I see how it is,” Calum tuts, leaning back against the counter. The view is spectacular from here, Luke still sprawled in the chair, that inviting space between his legs occupied with one ringed hand casually dangling from his thigh. “You can dish out the orders, but you can’t take them.”

“For you, I’d be willing to try. Trust me,” Luke says, smirking, and, like he can read Calum’s mind, he lets his fingers rest on the inside of his thigh. “I just don’t want to fuck up when it’s something this important.” He tilts his head back to take a long drink, throat bobbing and he polishes off his glass of wine and sets it on the table with a flourish.

“You just fixed my oven like it was nothing. Surely you can handle some sugar and flour.” Luke cocks his head and narrows his eyes skeptically, and Calum grins, gesturing with his fingers for Luke to get up. “C’mon. I won’t let you fuck up.”

“Fine,” Luke says with a dramatic sigh. “You talked me into it. But first—” He reaches for the bottle of wine, rings clinking against the side, and pours himself another glass, already sipping it as he stands up and joins Calum by the counter. “Okay. Put me to work.”

He’s standing very close. Like closer than they’ve ever been before. Close enough that Calum is suddenly very aware of just how large Luke is by comparison, towering a few inches over Calum while he surveys the bowls of ingredients on the counter. 

The issue is, Calum really likes it. He never feels small. He never thought he wanted to feel small. But there’s something about knowing Luke could wrap him up in his long arms and fold him against his broad chest and lift him onto the counter and — dammit, Calum needs to get a fucking grip. 

No, he needs more wine. Reaching for his glass, he says, pointing at each ingredient in turn, “Flour. Baking soda. Salt. Cinnamon. Put them in a bowl. Whisk them together.”

“That’s it?” Luke’s eyes track Calum’s glass as he lifts it to his lips to take a drink. “I don’t even get to crack an egg?”

Calum forces down a painful gulp of wine as he laughs at Luke’s mournful eyes and pouty lips. “Maybe we can work up to that for the next batch.”

“Guess I’ll just have to do my best to show off with the whisk then,” Luke says, rubbing his hands together while he flicks his eyes over the counter uneasily. “Uh. Please direct me to the whisk.”

Watching Luke be capable with his toolbox was incredibly hot, but watching Luke all at sea in the kitchen is almost unbearably endearing. Calum takes a fortifying sip from his own glass before setting it down and grabbing the whisk to hand to Luke.

“Ah yes, the whisk,” Luke says, with a rapid nod, stepping closer to the counter as he passes it from one of his ringed hands to the other. “Here we go, whisking. Whisking the ingredients. Whisking them together.”

Calum takes pity on him and comes up behind him, he raises up on his tiptoes to rest his head on the back of one of Luke’s wide shoulders. “Do you need help?”

“What gave it away?” Luke says with a chuckle. “The general air of concern? The stalling?”

“The panic in those achingly blue eyes,” Calum murmurs. He steps slightly to the side of Luke, but brushes one of his hands across his back, like he just needs to check that’s the actual width of him. “Okay so, flour. Baking soda. Salt. Cinnamon.”

He deposits each into the bowl in turn, then taps Luke on the wrist. “And now whisk.”

“How do I do that?” Luke asks. Calum sees the twitch of his lip, and knows he’s messing with him.

“How do you whisk?” Calum asks. He grabs his glass to take another drink.  “Stick it in the bowl and start stirring, babe.” 

“You’re so romantic,” Luke says, the twitch of his lip growing into a full grin as he carefully starts whisking the ingredients. He’s clutching the whisk incredibly tightly like it’s going to fly out of his hand, but is moving it so slowly it’s going to take him over fifteen minutes to combine anything.

“Faster,” Calum says, watching the movement of Luke’s wrist.

Luke throws him a glance. “Excuse me?”

“Go faster,” Calum repeats, still watching the movement, bringing his glass to his lips again. “Please.”

“Stop it,” Luke says, pausing his movements to shake his head and laugh. 

“Stop what?” Calum asks innocently. “You asked for instructions.”

Luke levels him a look where his eyes are dark and his lips are quirked and plump. “This is the most excruciating foreplay I’ve ever experienced, Calum.” 

Calum laughs in what he thinks is bordering on hysteria. What exactly is happening here? Is it the wine? He’s only a glass deep. “I’m about to blow your mind, Luke,” Calum says, deliberately evenly, fingers pressing into his wine glass. “With this fucking excellent carrot cake.”

“You’re unbearable,” Luke says, and starts combining the ingredients again. “I’m whisking faster.” 

“You’re doing so well, we might upgrade you to electric next time,” Calum says, turning to crack some eggs into his sugar bowl and snapping the attachment into his hand whisk. He whips up the sugar and eggs and slowly adds the oil until he’s happy with the foamy mix in the bowl, turning back to Luke, who is still carefully combining the dry ingredients, but watching Calum work with interest. 

“And now we fold,” Calum says. “Slowly.”

“First fast and now slow?” Luke asks. 

Calum nods, sliding the sugar and egg mixture toward Luke. “You don’t want to get it too worked up, or it won’t rise as well in the oven.” Doing his best to ignore Luke’s snorting giggles, he tugs the whisk out from Luke’s fingers and slips a spatula between them. “I’ll pour. You fold.”

“Good thing I’m flexible,” Luke mutters under his breath, spatula poised over the bowl while Calum adds part of the egg mixture to the dry ingredients. “Like this?” He glances at Calum while he pokes at the batter with the spatula.

“Is that how you usually fold things?” Calum condescends, reaching for his wine to resist the urge to grab Luke’s wrist and stop the madness.

But Luke stops on his own, looking over at Calum pointedly. “It’s usually what happens when I’m folding.”

Calum takes a deep breath. Time to finish this fucking glass of wine. “Now who’s being unbearable?” he asks, licking his lips and grabbing the bottle off the table to refill his now empty glass. 

Luke grins proudly while he watches Calum pour. “It’s true, though,” he says, refusing to give Calum any reprieve from the images currently infiltrating his brain. “But I’m open to new techniques. How do I fold?”

“It’s all in the wrist,” Calum says, returning to his post next to Luke at the counter and putting his hand over Luke’s on the spatula to lead him in a quick demonstration. “A little twist and flip action.” Feeling Luke’s rings under his palm isn’t really helping Calum’s state of mind. He could grab that hand and do a twist and flip of his own to get Luke up against the counter underneath him.

But the finely grated carrots chorus at him from their little blue bowl. Don’t fuck this up, Calum. We’re all you’ve got.

“I’m really starting to understand the appeal of baking,” Luke says, trying to emulate the motion Calum led him through. It’s a little awkward, but he’s got the spirit of it. “You must be so horny by the time you leave work every day.”

“Why do you think I’ve been showing up at your door as soon as I get home?”

Luke laughs loudly, a deep, hitching giggle that’s so cute Calum can barely stand it, which really fucks with his head. While Luke folds the batter, he leans against Calum and says softly, like it’s a juicy secret, “I thought maybe it was because ya liked me.”

“You made an impression,” Calum says, pouring the rest of the egg mixture into Luke’s bowl. “I needed to find out if my hot neighbor was actually as beautiful and charming as he seemed at 4 a.m.”

“And did you?” Luke asks quietly, steadily folding, keeping his eyes on the bowl until all the pockets of flour have been carefully combined. 

“I did,” Calum says, with a smile, taking another sip of wine before grabbing the mocking carrot bowl and poking at the tiny shreds. 

“And?” Luke prompts, holding the sides of the mixing bowl, like he’s holding it hostage until he gets a response from Calum. Calum muses on how much he should say.

“More beautiful and charming,” Calum says, shaking his head. “Too beautiful and charming, got me all off my carrot game.”

Luke pushes the bowl towards Calum and picks up his glass again. “I think you were off your carrot game before you crashed into me,” he says with a small chuckle. “You can’t blame it on me.” 

“I promise I want to talk more about how much I like you,” Calum says, watching Luke’s eyes brighten and his teeth trap his bottom lip as he smiles. “But I’m pinning all hopes of every bit of work I’ve done this week on this cake, so give me like five more minutes to get it in the oven.” 

“Okay,” Luke says softly, and he reaches out to brush his thumb over the back of Calum’s hand holding the spatula. “I like watching you.”

Calum can feel Luke’s gaze like it’s burning through his shirt into his back, and knowing the intensity of Luke’s eyes are on him is almost unbearable, but he has to power through for the sake of future Calum. And hopefully future Calum has a perfect carrot cake and also Luke naked in some description. As payment for his trauma.

He carefully but deftly incorporates his perfectly finely shredded carrot, and pours the batter into the pan. Just as he’s about to sling it into the oven with a prayer to the skies, Luke’s voice interrupts him.

“Your nuts!” he shouts.

“Jesus Christ,” Calum exclaims, nearly dropping the cake pan. “What the fuck, Luke?”

“Don’t forget your nuts,” Luke says, looking extremely earnest and gesturing to the counter behind Calum. “I know it sounds like I’m fucking with you, but you added nuts before and you haven’t this time.” 

“Oh, my nuts!” Calum repeats, spotting his chopped pecans left tucked behind his flour bowl. Fucking hell, all those tiny carrot shreds were nearly for nothing. 

“Your poor forgotten nuts,” Luke says, trying to bite back a grin. 

“You saved them,” Calum says, scraping his batter back into the bowl and tipping in the pecans. “Thanks for caring about my nuts.” 

“I’ve got your nuts’ best interests at heart,” Luke says from behind him, the grin evident in his voice. “Number one fan for Calum’s nuts.” 

Calum stops as he gets the batter back into the pan to laugh. “You like my nuts more when they're not in the cake,” Calum says. “I get it.” He slides the pan into the oven next to the first cake and shuts the oven door with a flourish. 

When he turns around, Luke is looking at him with his lips quirked in the tiniest little smirk, almost imperceptible, eyes dancing mischievously. Something’s going on behind that smirk and those eyes. And, with a little luck, and the help of another glass or two of wine, it’s a nut Calum might manage to crack.

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

The warm, spicy scent of the cake in the oven fills Calum’s nose as he relaxes into his chair, head buzzing pleasantly. Miraculously, Luke is at his feet, ass in the air, forearms on the floor, attempting to entice Duke with a play bow. While he stares him down, he makes this adorable little growling sound that only seems to passively get Duke’s interest as he sniffs at his food bowl.

“I don’t think he’s interested in playing with you,” Calum observes stoically. “Maybe you should play with me instead. I’m very interested.”

Luke glances over at Calum, grinning, his bright blue eyes soft from the wine. “Come on down here, then. You’ll get your turn.” 

He gives up on the play bow and folds his legs underneath him, sitting back against the cabinets and watching with a soft smile while Duke goes through his usual dinnertime ritual of carefully removing pieces of food from his bowl and placing them onto the floor next to it. “He’s as meticulous as you are about his recipes,” Luke says, flicking a stray piece of kibble back towards Duke’s bowl. “Must run in the family.”

Calum laughs brightly, slipping onto the floor to sit next to Luke. “We all have our process.” Duke sniffs at the piece of kibble suspiciously, then snaps it into his mouth, chewing with a loud crunch. After he swallows, he looks at Luke imploringly. “He wants you to give him more food,” Calum translates.

With a scoff, Luke stares right back at Duke. “Bro, there’s so much food on the floor in front of you. You don’t need me to give it to you.”

“But the pieces you touch are better,” Calum says with a wistful sigh, all fizzy in his head. It’s like he can feel the alcohol grating down all the filters in his brain. A pile of shredded carrot inhibitions draining out of his ears, leaving him fully aware he’s in a state where he could say some shit, and fully unconcerned about it. “That’s why you’re gonna be the reason I figure out this cake.” He twists his head to look at Luke, heart skittering when he sees just how tempting Luke’s pouty lips look in profile. He needs to kiss Luke. He just does. It’s a fucking requirement for his continued survival.

“Does that go both ways?” Luke wonders, giving in and picking up another piece of kibble to offer to Duke. “If I go to your bakery to write, will I suddenly be inspired to finish my story?” Duke takes the bait, following the kibble as Luke leads him closer to his lap. “Ha. Gotcha!” He scoops up Duke and carefully arranges him in the gap of his crossed legs, then lets Duke snatch the kibble from between his fingers. His pouty lips are smiling now, but that doesn’t make Calum feel any less like he absolutely needs to kiss him.

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” Calum says, his gaze not moving from Luke’s lips, before his slightly slow brain realizes that’s probably not polite and snaps his eyes back to Luke’s. They’re almost unbearably gorgeous, mischievous and sparkling and sweet, and looking at Calum like he’s considering something, that imperceptible look again. The urge to kiss him only grows, and Calum’s concerned he’s about to do something really stupid and really soon.

“Is that an invitation?” Luke asks, almost softly, his voice low and rumbling in the relative quiet of the kitchen apart from Duke’s snuffling and the hum of the oven. Luke feeds Duke another piece of kibble from the floor and then lifts him up to nuzzle his face into Duke’s head as he loudly crunches through the lovingly delivered bite. “Can I come see you sometime?”

It seems absolutely outrageous to a slightly tipsy Calum that Luke would want to ask him whether he can come to see him, when he’s all curled up in Calum’s kitchen, snuggling his dog and slightly fuzzy on the edges with fancy wine. 

“Come see me?” Calum blinks at him. “What?”

“Calummmmmm,” Luke whines, making his eyes big and tilting his head towards him, resting it on Calum’s shoulder for a second before turning to look at him properly. “Stop being difficult. Do you want me to come or not?” 

“I’m sorry,” Calum rushes to respond, Luke’s pouty lips actually pouting at him now. “I’d love for you to come. To the bakery.”

He tacks on the end, heat rising up his neck that’s only aided by the wine in his blood. They’ve spent most of the night making vaguely suggestive comments to each other but somehow when it’s as earnest as this, he doesn’t want to be misconstrued.

Luke’s lips quirk in that dangerous way, but his eyes are genuine. “Okay,” he says, feeding Duke some more kibble and kissing him on his head. “When are you going to sit in my lap and play with me?”

Calum barks out a surprised laugh that gets caught in his throat, but before he can respond, his timer goes off, blaring loudly in the kitchen. Fucking cockblocking timer. He clambers to his feet and grabs his oven mitts, trying not to stumble as all the blood rushes from his head to his feet. 

“Do your oven mitts have dogs on them?” Luke asks delightedly, now letting Duke eat his dinner out of his hand as he perches on one of Luke’s thighs. Duke’s normally so much more reserved around new people, but he can understand the immediate fall for Luke’s charms. He didn’t even growl at him.

“Yes,” Calum says, opening the oven door and grabbing the cake pan, sliding it onto a cooling rack on top of the cooker and pressing it carefully to check it springs back. He nods in satisfaction. He has a good feeling about this. The first cake looked exactly like all his other cakes did when he pulled it out, but this one looks well-risen and less obviously carrot-y in an extremely encouraging way. “They were a birthday gift.” 

“They’re cute. You’re cute. How’s the cake looking?”

“I think this might be the one,” Calum says, looking at Luke with a smile that feels like it’s verging on insane—from the cake, from Luke calling him cute, from the perfect amount of wine flowing through his bloodstream. “I think—” He hesitates, eyeing the bowl of pureed carrots on the counter dubiously. “I think I might not even bother with the third cake.”

Luke’s eyes widen, bright and glassy. “Really? You’re feeling that good about it?” His hand hovers in the air, palm up, slightly cupped, as Duke trots away, apparently done with his gourmet hand-fed dinner.

Does he feel that good about it? Or is he just drunk? Does it really make a difference? He starts snickering uncontrollably, unable to suppress it no matter how hard he tries, until he gives up and just lets it out, laughing wildly while Luke grins up at him. “I’m feeling so good about it,” Calum manages between laughs. “I think this week has made me lose my mind. I’m carrot crazy. I don’t know if I even fuckin’ care how this cake turns out.”

“You do,” Luke rushes to say, holding his arms out like he expects Calum to fall into them, gesturing with his fingers for Calum to come closer. “You care, and it’s going to be perfect, and if it’s not, there’s always tomorrow. C’mere.”

“Until there’s not,” Calum says, drawn to Luke like he’s been caught by some kind of tractor beam slowly pulling his body closer until he’s standing directly over him, close enough Luke can wrap his hands around Calum’s knees and tug. “Eventually I’m going to run out of days.” 

He gives in and sinks down onto Luke’s lap, encouraged by Luke’s arms around his waist, and it’s the strangest feeling. Like he’s melting, all the tension draining from his body everywhere he’s pressed against Luke. But also like he’s just on the edge of boiling, a bubbling anticipation under his skin from feeling Luke’s body beneath him and against him, from seeing his blue eyes filling with lust as Calum comes closer.

“If you run out of days,” Luke says, pressing his hands gently against Calum’s thighs, “You can just use one of the many perfectly tasty recipes you’ve tried this week, because you never should’ve been using me as a measure for success.”

Calum sighs, because Luke is right. He’s being ridiculous and stubborn about the cake recipe. There’s a lot riding on this carrot cake, yes, but he’s a good baker. Even if this wedding cake isn’t as perfect as he’d like for it to be, it will still be delicious.

“What if I just wanted an excuse to keep seeing you?” Calum’s trying to decide what to do with his hands, but getting distracted looking at Luke’s face up close. Hypnotized by glittery eyes and that damn dimple that occasionally sneaks out while Luke speaks.

“What if you didn’t need the cake to keep seeing me?” Luke says. The freckles on the bridge of his nose are only obvious to Calum this close, but he still berates himself that he’s never noticed them before now. Another piece of the Luke puzzle that Calum is desperate to finish. “What if I’d been hoping you’d want to talk to me for months?” 

“And how was I meant to know that?” Calum says defensively. Luke shrugs, a little smirk on his lips that drives Calum crazy.

Calum has a very reasonable thought process over how the cake was a vehicle for regular Luke interactions, but Luke’s hands are now holding onto his hips with enough pressure that he can feel where Luke’s rings cut in. He decides to cut his losses on being reasonable and concentrates on placing his own hands on Luke’s shoulders, his thumbs just skimming the edge of his neck. He feels the textures with the pads of his thumbs, the smooth skin of Luke’s neck, the slightly rough cotton of his tiny shirt, and the prickly stubble just on the underneath of his jaw.

Luke smiles again as Calum touches him, showing his teeth this time and trapping his tongue between them. It’s so very cute, and so very Luke, and Calum’s internal bubbling is reaching boiling point, with the width of Luke’s thighs underneath him and his beautiful face less than a couple of inches away. There’s something about Luke’s slightly drunk eyes this close, his eyelids a little heavier than usual, and that glassiness against the darkness of his pupils, dilating in the warm kitchen lights.

“Well you know now,” Luke says, that low rumbling voice that makes Calum’s insides turn to soup, simmering right at the surface. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Luke’s challenging him, those pouty lips now so close to Calum’s own that if he tried to focus on them he’d go cross-eyed, Luke’s thumbs now ever so softly rubbing his hip bones. All his senses are now Luke, the only thing in his vision, the heat of him underneath his legs, his low voice in his ears, the scent of his cologne the only thing Calum can smell. There’s only one thing left, and Calum has to taste him, or he might just die. 

“I think your cake is going to be amazing,” Luke says softly. Calum leans in to kiss him. Luke waits for him, but his hands tense against Calum’s hips, not quite pulling, but flirting with the idea of it. 

The kiss is soft at first, just a lazy brush of lips, but it ignites a spark, and Luke grabs Calum’s hips roughly while Calum kisses him more deeply, dragging a hand to the back of Luke’s head to protect it from the cabinets behind him. The softness of his hair wrapping around Calum’s fingers, the softness of his lips as Calum sucks gently at the bottom one, eager for that taste that he needs to survive. Luke responds by licking across the seam of Calum’s lips and making a hungry noise, like he had a taste of something delicious and is desperate for another bite. 

“This is how I imagined you eating my croissants,” Calum mumbles against Luke’s lips, pulling a giggle from him, using it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into Luke’s mouth. To finally get a taste. There’s sweetness from the wine, and Calum wonders what’s underneath it all. What does just Luke taste like? Additional, extensive research will be required. He can be as meticulous about kissing Luke as he is about his carrot cake recipe.

Luke kisses like he’s trying to learn Calum too, but it’s different. Like he’s searching, every twist of his tongue uncovering something new. Now that Calum’s fully surrounded in him, every single sense occupied by Luke, it’s hard for him to focus on any single thing at a time. 

Just when he notices how indecisive Luke’s hands are, venturing all over Calum’s back and sides and hips and thighs, grabbing at his shirt, thumbs occasionally slipping under the waistband of his shorts, he gets distracted by Luke’s sounds—a quiet, low hum every time Calum does something he particularly likes, and a soft sigh every time their lips separate long enough to catch their breath. But then none of it can quite compete with his mouth, taking Calum apart so thoroughly it’s almost disconcerting. Duke’s not the only one eating out of the palm of Luke’s hand tonight.

But maybe it goes both ways, because when Calum scrapes his teeth over Luke’s bottom lip he whines and lifts his chin, chasing after Calum, stubble scraping over Calum’s skin while their mouths messily slot back together. And when Calum decides he wants to feel that stubble against his lips, breaking away to kiss along Luke’s jaw, Luke gasps and his hands suddenly become very focused on pulling Calum more tightly against his hips.

The sensation makes Calum’s lips tingle, and he has a stray thought that he’d like to feel all the different textures of Luke’s skin beneath his lips and his tongue and his hands. “How long can we do this?” Luke asks breathlessly as Calum sucks a mark into the sensitive skin beneath his ear, fingernails scraping through the soft curls at the base of Luke’s neck. “Before you need to finish the cake?”

His fucking voice like this — rough and deep but still so soft — is enough to make Calum’s head spin. What did he say? How long can they do this? Forever, as far as Calum is concerned.

“What?” Calum asks, needing Luke to clarify exactly what he’s talking about as he attaches his mouth back on Luke’s neck, softly sucking down towards the neckline of his shirt. Feeling that stubble under his tongue rather than his fingers means Calum has very little sense of anything else happening to him. It’s like he’s hearing Luke’s words but they aren’t quite processing as far as they need to. 

“Calum,” Luke’s voice is even rougher in Calum’s ears, breathy and strained. His hands have been fixed on Calum’s hips since Calum found this spot on his neck, gripping harder than they have before, pushing down but also pulling Calum further into the cradle of his lap, bodies pressing against each other. Calum’s dimly aware that this could accelerate incredibly quickly on the floor of his kitchen, but he’s not exactly opposed to it. He mopped on Monday. He can mop again. 

“Calum,” Luke repeats, as Calum uses the fingers that are still in Luke’s hair to tilt his head back gently and expose the taut skin of his throat to Calum’s mouth, kissing across his adam’s apple as it bobs when he speaks. “Frosting.” 

Calum pulls back slightly, surveying the pink marks that his mouth has left on Luke’s neck. “Frosting,” he repeats, as his brain struggles to pull him into the present. “Fuck, why do I need to make frosting right now?”

“Well, maybe you don’t have to right now,” Luke says. He looks wrecked already, his hair a mess from Calum’s fingers, eyes glassier than ever, and his mouth red raw. Knowing he’s the cause of Luke looking like that is almost too much to bear. “You could be making out with me instead, and get to the frosting later.”

“Yes, making out,” Calum says, nodding, only caring slightly that he sounds like a robotic echo. Luke just smirks again and lifts his hands from Calum’s hips to cradle Calum’s face in his hands, those rings now hot and pressing into the side of Calum’s face as Luke draws him back towards him, brushing his lips over Calum’s again in a series of barely there kisses until he finally takes pity on Calum and carefully slots their mouths back together again. Luke tastes sweet from the wine, yes, but even as Calum licks that out of his warm mouth, Calum’s pretty sure that Luke tastes sweet underneath it all too. 

“You’ll taste so good once you’ve eaten my frosting,” Calum murmurs, his brain now the ultimate combination of drunk on wine and drunk on Luke that it will really make anything come out of his mouth. He doesn’t even have it in him to care, diving back in to get Luke’s delicious bottom lip back in his mouth and between his teeth. 

Luke huffs a little laugh out against his lips. “Your frosting?” He pulls back a little, sweeping his hand through the hair falling across Calum’s forehead, making Calum shiver even though he can feel his skin is flushed and blushing. “The frosting I’ve been craving since running into you at the store?”

“Craving?” Calum echoes with a giddy laugh. The entire world is as perfect and glittery as Luke’s face. “The orange zest idea really got you going, huh?”

“The way you talked about your fucking frosting sure did,” Luke says accusingly, lips pulling into a crooked smirk. “Like I wasn’t supposed to read into my frosting at all. Sure.” He rolls his eyes playfully, swatting Calum on the side of his hip.

“You started it,” Calum complains halfheartedly, eyes drawn to Luke’s swollen lips. He brushes his thumb over them gently as he says, “Made an impression though. I had this Alexa note about frosting as innuendo that I have no memory of making.”

“Did you?” Luke asks, quirking an eyebrow, lips still twitching in a smile. He hesitates, cocking his head to the side, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “How do you think that happened? Cake-related amnesia?”

Calum shrugs, tracing his hands over the tops of Luke’s shoulders, down the sides of his arms, then back up, down his chest. Wow. He really wants him so fucking badly. “No clue. Sleepwalking? Carrot coma? Someone else on the apartment complex wifi with the exact same job as me? Doesn’t matter now, as long as I get to find out how you taste after you’ve eaten my frosting.”

“Which kind are we talking about?” Luke asks devilishly.

“Both,” Calum says, decisive as he climbs out of Luke’s lap and holds out a hand to pull him up off the ground. “First my frosting. Then, my frosting. One will give me enough will to live to get through the other.”

Laughing, Luke grabs Calum’s outstretched hand and quips, “Good thing I’m starving.”

“Hold that thought,” Calum replies as he pulls Luke off the floor, eyes catching on the cake cooling in the tin. He can’t just leave it like that. “Gotta turn this cake out first. It’ll just take a second.”

“Turn it out?” Luke asks curiously, watching Calum play it fast and loose with safety protocols as he taps the side of the tin with his fingers to make sure it’s cool to the touch.

“Flip it out of the pan,” Calum clarifies, doing just that in one smooth, practiced motion. He’s probably being a bit overconfident about it to show off, plus he’s not usually drunk when he does this, so he lets out a small sigh of relief once the cake is safely out of the pan in one piece.

“Daaaaamn,” Luke says, impressed. “Another little twist and flip.”

Calum grins at him proudly. “Exactly. Such a conscientious student.”

Biting his lip over a mischievous smile, Luke taps his palms against Calum’s chest. “Can you do that to me too?”

“Been waiting for the chance all night,” Calum says, hooking an arm around Luke’s waist and pulling him out of the kitchen.

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

“Holy shit, this is delicious,” Luke says, eagerly licking at a dab of frosting stuck in the corner of his lips while he drags his fork through the slice of cake on the table in front of him, piling it with a generously-sized bite. “I dunno what you did differently, but I love this.”

“You’re not just fucking with me?” Calum asks skeptically, leaning across the table to study Luke’s face as he eats. “You’re not just telling me what I want to hear because you enjoyed my frosting so much?”

It’s late, and they’re back at Calum’s kitchen table, sitting opposite each other. Luke is now clad in Calum’s clothes, after complaining about putting his own clothes back on, so he’s swathed in a pair of sweatpants far too short for him and one of Calum’s largest hoodies. He looks rumpled and soft with the remaining glitter over most of his face, and he’s enthusiastically shoving Calum’s carrot cake in his mouth.

“I enjoyed your frosting so much, I’m already dreaming about when I can taste it again,” Luke looks up as he licks his lips salaciously. “But this, Calum, is really good.”

“Are you sure?” Calum asks, the thought of having perfected the recipe and also getting Luke in one night too much to bear, he has to ask for extra reassurance. 

“I’m not that good at lying, you know that,” Luke says, chewing with a smile on his face. “I’m not saying it’s my favorite cake ever, but I am saying it’s fucking delicious.” 

“Oh my god,” Calum says, collapsing back into his chair. He’s exhausted, the whole week along with this evening’s activities catching up to him. “The tiny, tiny carrot shreds did it.” 

“You did it,” Luke says. He slides the plate towards Calum on the table, with only a couple of bites left in the slice. “Here, taste your well-earned victory.”

Now Calum thinks about it, he’s absolutely starving, and he eats the last bit of the cake quickly. “Hmm,” he says as he swallows. “Yeah, that’s pretty good.” 

Luke beams at him, eyes glittering happily. 

“This is the best day I’ve ever had,” Calum says seriously.

“Me too,” Luke says with a small smile that makes his dimple become deeper than ever.

“You had to handyman my oven and watch me grate carrots instead of going out, that can’t possibly be a good day,” Calum protests. 

“It was,” Luke says, his soft smile sliding into a little smirk. “In so many ways.” 

Calum laughs and shakes his head. 

“What next, number one carrot cake baker?” Luke asks. Calum knows he’s used to being up late, but how is he so perky right now?

Calum slumps down to the table. “I’m so tired,” he admits. “Clean up I suppose. Eat something other than cake.”

“Can I help?” Luke asks, and Calum looks up to see Luke’s earnest eyes again. Oh god, he’s serious. He wants to help Calum clean. He might actually be the perfect man.

“How about we forget about the cleanup for now and order a pizza?” Calum suggests.

“Oh Calum,” Luke says, sitting his chin in his hands and looking at Calum with a dreamy smile. “You know just what to say.”

Calum grins and gets up, clearing away the plate to the rest of the debris on his kitchen counters, and turning back to the much more appealing image of Luke relaxing in his clothes at his kitchen table. 

“If you’re done with all the baking tasks,” Luke says thoughtfully, “Do you want to get back in my lap again?” 

Oh, he does. He really, really does. Luke looks so soft and cozy but also so perfectly undone. Calum’s not sure what exactly he’d most like to do with him like that, but getting in his lap would be a good start. However, “If I get back in your lap right now, we’ll never get this pizza ordered, and I’m definitely not going to get any rest.”

“Fine,” Luke pouts, reaching for his phone. “I’ll order the pizza now. Then you get in my lap.”

It’s a well-intentioned plan, but it doesn’t account for the fact that it’s just as easy for Calum to get in Luke’s lap again after they eat their pizza, and how tempting it is for Calum to kiss Luke everywhere his lips can reach instead of resting.

His lips are attached to Luke’s shoulder and Luke’s hands are under his shirt and they’re both breathing a little heavy when Luke’s phone interrupts them with a loud, chirping alarm.

“Midnight,” Luke explains, stabbing violently at his phone with his finger. “I was planning on coming home at a reasonable hour and doing some drunk writing tonight.”

Perplexed, Calum tears himself away from Luke’s shoulder to look at him with an amused frown. “After being out?”

Luke shrugs, a guilty little smile on his lips. “Some types of scenes just come out better if I write them drunk.”

Huh. Just like carrot cake. “I need to be at work in five hours,” Calum observes, unconcerned about it as he twists his fingers through Luke’s hair, once again overwhelmed by the softness. He’s never going to get used to it.

“And I’ll be five hours late for work,” Luke replies with a smile. “I should go. Let you get some sleep.”

“No,” Calum says, pressing himself more tightly against Luke. “You should stay here and sleep with me.”

“I’d love that,” Luke says, eyes warm and earnest as they flick over Calum’s face, “But I’m feeling pretty fucking inspired right now. Should probably get some writing done.” He grips Calum’s jaw gently and kisses him with soft lips. “Tomorrow?”

Tomorrow. Calum marvels quietly at the concept that they can do this again. Without carrots.

 ◛ »･ﾟﾟ･｡🥕

When Calum gets to the bakery in the morning, he’s technically exhausted—Luke didn’t leave until after midnight, so Calum is running on fumes—but he’s in an incredible mood, still riding the high of nailing both the carrot cake recipe and Luke. He even got to sleep in a little, since today Ashton’s here to handle the front of the house. 

He’s downright jaunty as he strides into the kitchen, energized and ready to get started on this goddamn wedding cake. The chirp of his bluetooth speaker connecting to his phone makes him shimmy joyously as he assembles his ingredients. The rhythm of his carrot-grating matches perfectly with the first song that comes up on shuffle, and he shakes his hips along to the beat. 

It’s not until he gets to the frosting that he’s hit with a reality check. His memory of certain details of last night is foggy. The Luke stuff is crisp and clear, constantly replaying in his mind while he bakes. The actual recipe he used for the frosting, however…was it just orange zest and cinnamon, or did he toss some nutmeg in there too? No reason to panic. He remembers victoriously yelling the recipe at Alexa at some point last night.

He opens up his notes on his phone, and there, next to his frosting recipe (“half teaspoon of nutmeg, bitch”) is an even newer note.

Eyes in the sunset

Folding, whisking, twist and flip

Scene with cleaning the kitchen

Bring me a croissant when you get home from work?