Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“First off, your analytical skills that you think make you too strange to socialize with have saved so many lives over the years, Arley, it’s remarkable.” He lets his stance match mine. “Your attention to detail, your ability to tweak the smallest portion of an equation for better results, is the reason men like me have the success rates we do. If you didn’t overanalyze and evaluate our patterns and behaviors and movements and cross check them with environments, we’re most equipped to handle and the terrain we’re most familiar with and the skills that are the sharpest, more people would be dead. More children – like me – would still be in the hands of people who should’ve never had them to begin with.”
His words wrap so tightly around me I can barely breathe.
“And second, I’d never wanna take away somethin’ that makes you happy, baby. I only wanna give you more of it.” Slater’s smile suddenly softens to the point it melts my soul. “And if you let me…be a part of it.” He presents a small shrug. “You’re always learnin’ somethin’ new for me. Let me learn somethin’ new for you.”
“That’s…different.”
“How is that different?”
“Learning about weapons and foreign policies and cultural customs helps me be better at my job.”
“And learnin’ how to properly separate egg yolk helps me be better at mine.”
Confusion causes me to twitch my eyebrows.
“Bein’ the best in the field matters to me, but bein’ the best here…at home…for you…matters so much more.” Watching the words practically twinkle as they leave his mouth takes my breath away. “Bein’ the best man in your life is a job I take very seriously, Angel Cake. Always have. Always will.” The faintest hint of red stains his cheeks; however, he does his best to brush it off, “Now, what can I do to help?”
After giving my bottom lip another small bite, I finally surrender. “You can help me put the cupcake liners in the muffin pans.”
“Happy to, General.”
Snickers leave us both, yet it’s me who directs the conversation, “You know serving some type of cupcake at this thing was T’s idea.”
Slater strolls around to grab the items we’ll need. “Really?”
“Yeah, I think it’s one of those old habits die hard kind of things.”
Amusement along with curiosity cloud his crystal gaze. “Explain.”
“When we were in high school, I spent most of my Friday nights at home baking with our mom.” I cross over to join him at the counter space closer to the oven. “Socializing is hard for me now but back then?” The slow headshake he’s presented is painful. “Between being in the same grade as my brother but two years younger and seeing things float through the air that others don’t, people either treated me like I had leprosy-”
“Hansen’s disease,” Slater casually corrects in between separating the pans.
“-or should’ve been wearing something white and tight and full of buckles.”
“You can be my buckle bunny anytime, Angel Cake.”
His teasing receives a playful elbow prior to me accepting a stack of liners. “My Friday and Saturday nights didn’t consist of dates or dances or live sporting events, but watching televised hockey highlights with my dad and baking with my mom.” Pulling the first object out occurs with a smile. “She’d put on a little Patti LaBelle or Gladys Knight-”
“Classics.”
“And turn the music way, way up, so I could dance around the colors in the air while creating colors on the counter. She always had the most colorful ingredients for us to work with, and I think it was because she wanted me to learn to have control over them versus letting them have control over me.” The two of us each begin putting the pastel-colored sheets into place. “We’d make rainbow cake batter truffles and rainbow Jell-O stacks and Rice Krispy Treats with sprinkles and different berry cakes in mason jars and almost always – we’re talking practically every baking session – some sort of cupcake. Always different types of frostings and toppings and you can bet your ass come Sunday morning, the good ones would be gone, and the less good ones would become treats for the neighbors.”
Slater warmly chuckles as he adjusts the liners he’s responsible for.
“Around prom – our junior year – I found out that T had this system he had been using to impress girls. Each weekend, he’d stash one of the good cupcakes when he got home from his date after everyone was asleep and then take it to whatever girl he was into on Monday morning and claim he baked it, just for her.”
“Slick.” My best friend hits me with an amused gaze. “Deceptive as fuck but slick.”
“Yup. Evidently, my cupcakes got my brother laid a lot in high school.”
More snickers precede a headshake.
“He had no choice but to come clean to me about his scheme when one of the girls asked for a list of ingredients due to an allergy and he had to fake a stomachache to get out of answering.”