Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(80)

“Oh, come on, I’m not that bad—”

“You have burned water, Natalie—that’s as bad as it gets. Don’t you dare ruin my class.”

Point taken. I’d have to be on my best behavior.

The diner was filled by the time I arrived. Roxie waved when I walked in, standing near the only empty station.

“Your apron is hanging on the back of the chair and everything you need is here,” she explained, pointing to the table and giving me a “this is a terrible idea but we’re going to try it anyway” smile.

I looked around, wondering which station I should go to, when I heard a low voice chuckle behind me. “Hey, Pinup.”

I turned with a smile, almost tripping over myself to kiss him hello. Towering over his work space, surrounded by little glass bowls and measuring cups, was Oscar.

He chuckled, deep and sexy. Judging by the heat present, he was thrilled to see me. His eyebrow quirked up as he gave me a very thorough once-over, and he licked his lips when his eyes reached mine.

How scandalous would it be if I just pushed him down on top of the counter and had my way with him in front of the class?

Roxie cleared her throat and banged a wooden spoon on a pot to get everyone’s attention.

“Tonight, in case you couldn’t tell by the ingredients, we’re making banana nut muffins! It’s something that a bunch of you requested.”

Great. I raised an eyebrow at Oscar, knowing that his ex-wife kept him swimming in muffins, and he tried not to laugh.

Roxie was moving on to the next step. “If you’d prefer a loaf pan instead of a muffin tin, I’ve got a few pans up here. Anyone?”

My hand shot up. Oscar looked over, but I brushed off his silent question.

Roxie tossed me the loaf pan and I got to work buttering it while everyone else was lining their muffin tins. Oscar’s and Leo’s big hands were struggling with dropping the tiny paper liners into their trays, but they seemed to be enjoying the experience. Everyone was, actually.

Roxie walked through the class, offering tips and praise. “Very good, guys. Louise, try a little less butter. Elmer, you don’t need that many liners in the same tin, they’ll never bake that way. Looks good, Oscar.”

While I was still greasing the pan, she moved on to the next step. My hands weren’t cooperating and I fumbled over the flour measurement, spilling some of it onto my station.

“What are you doing?” Oscar whispered to me, watching me make a mess.

“Having fun,” I whispered back through my teeth.

During the banana-mashing process, I dropped an earring into the macerated mush and had to fish it out with a toothpick.

When it came time for the whisking, I splattered not only myself with the batter, but poor Elmer in front of me.

“Stop laughing,” I snapped at Oscar and Leo.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized to Elmer, handing him another paper towel.

Roxie, busy with a teenager who was having a hard time measuring out the right amount of mix per cup, looked over at me and mouthed, “You okay?”

I just nodded and kept mixing the lumpy mess in my bowl. The bananas were stinky, and was it supposed to be bubbling?

“If your mix is ready, pour it into the tins and we’ll get them in the oven. Holler if you need a hand.”

I turned the bowl over the loaf pan and waited. The mixture oozed out slowly, dropping into the pan in a congealed glop.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to look like that, Pinup,” Oscar said, poking it with a wooden spoon.

“It’s fine,” I said, slapping the spoon away with my own. “I’ve never been a big fan of baking. Or cooking. Or grilling.”

I brushed past him, taking my pan to the kitchen. Roxie joined me, waiting until the room was clear before asking, “How’re you doing?”

She looked down at the pan and didn’t have to ask again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept pushing you to come to one of these. It’s just that everyone has fun, and I wanted you to—”

“Rox, it’s fine. I’m having fun, and now having experienced it, I have a new angle for my campaign.”

“Zombie Pickle class will be part of it?” she said, surprised.

“Yeah, it might not be the front page of a travel brochure, but it’s definitely included.”

As our boys joined us, Oscar kissed me sweetly on the cheek, then his eyes went wide and he pointed to the bank of ovens. “Rox, you got a problem there.” The oven that contained my loaf pan was pouring smoke out of the front.

“Shit! Grab the extinguisher just in case.” She donned two pot holders while running over.

It wasn’t as bad as the smoke made it seem. Apparently my loaf pan was too full and overflowed onto the floor of the oven. She pulled out the pan and dropped it onto the counter, and waved off any smoke that her exhaust fans didn’t get.

My banana nut bread was neither banana-y nor nutty, but it was very much misshapen and inedible.

“Good thing I hate bananas,” I joked, feeling a pressure in my chest when Oscar looked over.

“Remind me to keep you away from my grill,” he said with a laugh when he poked the bread brick. “I can’t believe you’re this bad at cooking.”

A lump formed in the back of my throat. “I told you I was this bad. I just wanted to try something new.” The last time I’d tried to cook for someone, anyone, was Thomas . . . Ugh. Not going there.