Remember Me

Twenty Six

"Okay. If we're going to make it to the bake sale, I need to hurry up." I inform Noah, running to my mixer to help with the combining of the paraphernalia of ingredients that were messily splayed out on the countertop.

"Can I help?" Noah asks. I speedily swat his hand away when he dips it into the bun mixture, which had groups of chocolate chips sprinkled into the concoction.

"Ugh. Fine. But you need to wash your hands first!" as the words piled out of my mouth, I instantly regretted it. This job had to be done fast and Noah was not the answer. Noah kisses me on the cheek as I turn on the mixers again and attack the chocolate-y cake batter. Although I was under pressure, I still got butterflies and I still couldn't help but smile.

"Pfft; I'm a pro." Noah holds up a hand in my face. "I mean; if the Betty Crocker mixes count. They should because you're still making it."

I roll my eyes and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Whatever you think, Noah. Just scoop the mixture into the bun cases and then use that cup to flatten the Nutella cookies over there." Noah raises a hand to his forehead and salutes me. "Yes m'am."

"This lieutenant is kind of rushing, so it would help if you kind of... started." I advise Noah, the side of my mouth curving into a smirk.

"Right! The cupcakes. Course."

I wink at Noah before pouring the completely diverse texture into an empty baking bowl. With much haste I grab my cookie cutter and roll out a bar of yellow icing. The theme was the beach, and I had already carved the shape of waves into the blue icing. Now I had to do the sand. My rainbow cupcakes were out and on a tray at the ready, but I still had a few more different batches to go in; like the Nutella cookies and the ice-cream and chocolate-chip cupcakes. I bend my neck and look down as I concentrate on pressing the rectangles into the icing. Next thing I know, something cold and sloppy made a frightening 'splat' noise on the back of my neck.

My finger rises up to my neck and scoops some of the mixture. An ice-cream cupcake. "Noah!" I screech, slowly turning around. "You're going to get it now, soldier."

"Ooh, tempt me and I might just run." He slickly replies, smirking like he always does; making me smile myself.

"You better do more than run away. You'd want to hopping on a plane!" I hiss, sprinting towards my wicked boyfriend after mopping the waste of a whole cupcake off my neck. I guess the lesson is not to put liquid items anywhere near my hair. We make our way to the bathroom. I clutch a whisk in my hand, raising like a weapon in front of Noah, who was still smiling like he was having the most fun in the world.

All that was on my mind was that we barely had half an hour to finish the baking food.

"Seriously, Noah. That wasn't funny." I utter, breathing heavily.

"It was a bit funny."

Then he got hit with a whisk. He didn't do as much as flinch like always. I wouldn't be surprised if he was actually made from steel, as no matter what the object is Noah doesn't even blink when he gets hit with it. Which is what happens. A lot. Not hard, of course - but it wouldn't matter because Noah is just a walking version of The Hulk.

"I really need to make these treats Noah. It's for the town hall, and you know I like do some of the baking for their fundraisers."

Noah sheepishly grins and shrugs. "Go on then." I run my finger along the whisk and flick a bit of batter, hitting Noah square in the nose. I may be weak, but my aim is good from photography. I know my pointers. Then I sprint. I have baking to do!

Noah creeps along soon enough, but I have the Nutella and the remaining buns of the batch of ice-cream cupcakes finished and ready; so there's not much he can do. Not that I'd even let him near the bowls now. I still had four more things to do; so I was elbow deep in flour and egg grease – but in the split second it didn't matter. I put the choc-chip biscuits in the oven, and lean against the counter. Noah walks up to me and rests his hands on my hips. "You make nice biscuits, by the way."

My head flicks to the tray of Nutella cookies. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, -

Twelve is gone. Undoubtedly in Noah's stomach. Instead of having a fit; I just flip Noah off before chuckling. He joins me, and then I go on my tiptoes to reach his nose. I go to place a gentle kiss on his nose when he pulls my chin and presses his lips against my puckered, at the ready ones. Things get heated, but it felt like one of the slowest things in the world. When I'm with Noah, minutes like these or even just casual things like eating seem like hours, which I'll eternally be grateful for.

Noah moves his hands around like he was doing some form of tai-chi . Then I realise he was clearing the countertop. He takes me by the back of my knees and lifts me on top of the counter. My hand is positioned on Noah's neck, and as our lips part (my stomach still twisted in happy knots) our foreheads are pressed together.

And the world. The world just stops. The rest of the world didn't matter, because all that could cause me any concern was Noah Dillon. "Hey chick?" Noah asks. I peck him again. "Yeah?"

At this point, I don't go into annoyed mode at the nickname of chick as now it has adjusted to being my calling name. "I think your cupcakes are burning."

I smile. Instead of crying, I grab the margarine tub and use it to reach and turn off the oven. Turning back to Noah, we kiss for a few more minutes before separating again. "Who cares?" I whisper, grinning.

Needless to say, I missed the bake sale. But who cares?