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With Finn and Eris staying late at the apothecary shop to do inventory, and Nyx being summoned to have dinner with King Soren and Ronan, probably for an update on my progress, and Atlas doing stars knows what, I take advantage of the rare alone time to bake a cake for Finn's birthday tomorrow. When I haven't been training with Atlas or sitting through Riggs' history lessons, I've spent the last couple of weeks practicing how to create home-baked goods and delectable desserts, and I feel confident enough to take a stab at making this surprise treat on my own.
How delusional.
Nothing has gone according to plan. I'm covered in flour and there are dirty dishes and pans scattered all over the island and overflowing in the sink. But the worst part is finally getting the baked cakes out of the oven and trying to frost them. Finn has an obsession with chocolate, so I attempt to squeeze the freshly whipped dark cocoa frosting out of the bag, but nothing comes out. Gripping the bag tighter, I accidentally send bits of frosting flying across the room, smacking into one of the cabinet doors. I watch in mortifying defeat as it slowly drips down onto the countertop and groan in frustration.
"Holy stars, I'm terrible at this." I toss the bag on the cluttered island and wipe strands of rebellious hair from my face, only to smear frosting I didn't know was on my hand across my forehead.
"Aren't you a sight."
Atlas' deep voice startles me, and I flash him a dirty look as he lurks in the doorway. "How long have you been standing there?" I hiss, feeling my cheeks heat.
After our run this morning, he returned to the house and showered before slipping out again. I was unaware until this moment that he'd returned and what's worse, he's been watching me, and I never noticed.
The corners of his mouth twitch. "Long enough."
"And do you intend to keep standing there gawking like a pigeon?"
He shrugs one shoulder. "I like the view."
I despise that my stomach flips at his flirtatious tone and shoot him a narrow-eyed glare instead. "Help me or leave."
"Are those my only options?"
I motion toward the sink filled to the brim with dishes. "You could always clean."
He glances around the kitchen, taking in the mess I managed to accumulate, and slowly rolls his black sleeves up to his elbows. "Seeing as I know nothing about baking, I'll clean."
I scoff, eyeing my abysmal birthday cake. "Apparently, I don't know much about baking either."
"That's not true." He saunters to the sink and flips the water on. "Finn says you're getting better."
"Well, Finn is a kind-hearted liar."
"How long have you been learning to bake?" he asks, turning his back to me and picking up the first dirty dish to rinse.
"A few weeks." I manage to get the frosting to ooze out of the pastry bag and squeeze some on top of the now-sinking-in-the-middle cake.
"Finn has been practicing since he was ten years old, and he still makes mistakes. Give yourself a little grace. You won't be good at something overnight. It takes time to master a craft."
I stop spreading the frosting and stare daggers at the back of his head as he quietly cleans. "I feel like this is about more than just baking."
Atlas is silent a moment longer before he turns the water off, throws the dish rag over his shoulder, and faces me. Pressing his backside against the counter, he crosses his arms over his chest and watches me work. Aware he's staring, I put the spatula down and take a few steps back until I bump into the counter on the other side of the kitchen, mirroring his posture. Slowly, he approaches the butcher block island between us and plants his palms on the counter.
"I truly believe you could be the most powerful magic wielder of our age," he says softly, "but you have to stop getting in your own way."
I lower my arms from my chest, and in a way, I lower my guard. "It's hard," I whisper.
"Of course, it is. It took me years -"
"No," I interrupt him, and his eyes widen at my tone. "I mean it's hard being around you while training."
Taking a moment before responding, he straightens and asks, "What do you mean?"
"You're insufferable and half the time I find myself wanting to shove you over a cliff –"
"That's nice."
"But I can't seem to escape you. This draw I have to you."
