Saturday Morning Baking

I used to think that baking was a snap. Something I could do that was automatic. No thinking required. I could turn on my music and get into the mode and just forget about anything but the cookies and me. And it was just that easy. Once.

Until Blake.

Blake complicates a lot of things in my life, normally in a good way, but I never thought he’d interfere with my baking. I mean, what gives? Is there anything more important to a man than food and football?

Oh yeah. Well, there is that…

So, there I was on Saturday, in my jeans and one of his cast-off t-shirts, barefoot in the kitchen. I’d melted my chocolate, creamed my butter and sugars, added the eggs and was reaching for the flour when I felt hands on my waist and lips at my neck.

I smelled cowboy.

“Morning, Blake.”

“Mornin’ Cookie,” he mumbled against my neck.

“I wasn’t expecting you out of bed so early.”

“Mmm… You weren’t there when I woke up.”

“Sorry. Had a craving for some Chewy Deep Dark Chocolate Cookies.”

“And it couldn’t wait?”

“Nope. I love you and all…”

“But?”

“But you’re not chocolate. Sorry.”

I turned back to my flour. Dipped. Measured. Dumped. Stirred. Added baking soda and salt. Stirred again. I was reaching for the hazelnuts when he whirled me around.

“So do all of your cravings get immediate gratification?” he asked, brushing his constantly growing beard (HAH – not what you thought I was gonna say, huh?) against my throat.

“Not all…” I murmured. “But most.”

“And me?”

“I dunno. Do you take care of your cravings right away?”

“I meant, am I on your list of cravings?” His tongue followed my jaw line from ear to chin.

“Usually.”

He pulled back abruptly. “Usually?”

“Sorry. I just have this uncontrollable craving for chocolate right now. I can’t explain it; it’s just there.”

Blake was then apparently rather aggravated with me because he threw his hands in the air and went back to bed. Alone. Oh well. More cookies for me. Do I still have milk? No matter.

I dumped in the nuts and chocolate chips. Stir, stir, stir. My arm was beginning to hurt. Digging out my trusty cookie scoop, I began making neat little cookie dough piles on my favorite Williams-Sonoma cookie sheets. Before long, the house began to smell delicious… just like chocolate. Mmm…

I was scooping the last of the cookie dough onto the remaining cookie sheet when I felt Blake behind me again. Turning around to scold him, I was stopped by a very chocolately tongue in my mouth. He’d obviously made a pit stop at the table before coming over. He tasted like cookies.

“Mmmph…” was all I could say. Between the feel of his body against mine and the taste of chocolate in my mouth… well, I was in heaven.

“So, am I back on the list?” he really, really wanted to know. Ask me how I figured it out. Go ahead. Ask.

No? Okay.

Where was I? OH! The story. Riiight…

“You’re at the top now, Cowboy.”

“Glad to hear it.” In one fluid motion, he bent down and scooped me up. Carried me down the hall. Had his way with me. Until…

It was the smoke detector that finally stopped us. Although, it took longer than expected to get us to budge. Good thing it was just smoke… and not a fire.

“The COOKIES!” I screamed, running naked down the hall. I flung the oven door open and got a face full of smoke. And then the crispy critters came out of the oven. The cats were cowering. The cookies were toast. I think even my plants were upset. God only knows, the cookies weren’t happy.

Blake looked over my shoulder and laughed. “I’m guessing an ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it, huh?”

“Nope.”

He laughed even harder. “It coulda been worse.”

“How?”

“You coulda burnt them all.”

I turned and glared. “Don’t mock the power of my cookies, pal.”

“I’ve tasted your cookies, Cookie. There is a reason you got that nickname, ya know.”

I narrowed my eyes and glared even harder at him. He just laughed at me. “Well then, I hope you have good taste memories because you ain’t gonna get to taste them again for a long, long time!”

“Threats, threats, threats…” He smiled that sexy smile at me and I couldn’t help but laugh too. “Can we go back and finish what we started now?”

“Gimme nine minutes to bake this last batch. That way we’ll have a ready-made snack.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Okay, but I’m timing you.”

Suffice it to say, standing in the kitchen, baking cookies in the nude… we damn near burnt that batch too.

From now on… I’m only baking alone.

Ali