Page 11 of Blood Sugar

“You don’t know how much this means to me,” I said, unable to help the tears that continued to trail down my cheeks. Without thinking, I raised my hand to wipe them away, and winced at the burn.

“What is that?” Rowen snapped, his tone freezing over.

“Oh, nothing. I just got myself on the edge of the oven.”

“Come here and let me see.” The command in his voice sent a wave of heat through my stomach.

My knees wobbled as I crossed the small space. He held his hand out expectantly. Praying that I wouldn’t tremble like a damsel in distress, I raised my arm and twisted it so he could see the angry red marks down the side of my palm and pinkie finger.

He leaned down, examining the injury and sending my heart rate racing when I felt his breath on my skin. “You burned yourself?”

There was no need for me to confirm. It was obvious. His warm eyes flicked up to mine for a split second before he wrapped his hand around mine, completely enveloping it.

I flinched, expecting the contact to hurt, but a tingly feeling flooded my fingers. I wanted to sag in relief as the pain disappeared entirely, leaving my entire arm feeling fizzy.

“Thank you,” I said breathlessly.

“Maybe don’t touch the oven,” he said, releasing me.

Ignoring the urge to roll my eyes, I pulled my arm back and flexed my fingers. “Thanks for the tip.”

All I got in return was a grunt. Rowen strode to the oven and grabbed a mitt. It was unfair that he still looked handsome even with an oversized, quilted oven mitt over his hand.

With confident movements, he yanked the trays out and poked at the half-baked scones. Most of them he slid right back in, but one tray he tossed onto the counter. The oven door closed with a soft thud.

“Those need probably fifteen minutes. Maybe less. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“I can set the timer,” I said, shifting closer to the counter and selecting one of the timers. They were the manual kind, like my grandmother had. He didn’t say anything as I twisted the dial to fifteen and set it back on the countertop.

Desperate to get us back to a friendly state, I asked, “So where did you get the healing magic? Can all witches do that?”

Silence stretched as Rowen retrieved a broom and dustbin. Just when I thought he might not answer at all, he cleared his throat and said, “My mom is a healer. My dad’s side of the family are kitchen witches. I got both.”

“Oh, that’s impressive.” I took the offered broom and started sweeping in one corner, working my way in. “I’ll get this all cleaned up. Again, I’m so sorry.”

“I still have to make the cupcakes. We can get by without brownies, but cupcakes are nonnegotiable. But they’re quick, which is why they’re last.”

“Of course,” I said, doing my best to sound like I knew exactly what he was talking about. But I wouldn’t have described cupcakes as one of the quicker things to make, so clearly I knew nothing.

Sweat formed on the back of my neck as I continued to clean up the huge mess. But there was no way I’d complain. I had to show Rowen that I could handle hard work.

The witch moved around me, somehow measuring out ingredients a second time without upsetting the piles of flour and sugar I was forming as I swept.

As the batter mixed, he held the dustbin for me. The floor would need mopping, but the kitchen looked 95 percent better already. I couldn’t help my hopeful smile, but to my frustration, Rowen scowled in response.

“So what now?” I asked, arching my eyebrows.

“Can you portion out the cupcakes without making a huge mess?” he asked.

My fangs ached as I gritted my teeth. Being hungry, frustrated, and embarrassed all at once felt like one confusing, mixed-up hell.

“I’m sure I can manage.”

Rowen slapped a metal scooper into my hand—the oversized kind for cupcakes or huge cookies.

He fitted a fresh mixing bowl onto the huge stand mixer and started preparing what I assumed was the cinnamon roll dough while I used the scooper to portion batter into the waiting cupcake liners.

“Good,” he said, grabbing the tray and sliding it into the oven. The praise made me want to preen, even if he was simply being polite.