"Baking 101: the eggs must be room temperature along with the butter so it emulsifies properly, cakes must be cooled upside down on a cooling rack so it is easier to stack the layers, cakes are essentially chemistry experiments, so the recipe must be followed to a T or disaster strikes, and lastly: know your oven. And since ovens in England are some alien technology, the cake must be cooked at a higher degree."
I have to try really hard not to laugh at the serious expression on Layla's face or her apron with bumblebees on it or her messily tied up hair or the hands-on-hip stance that means serious business.
Because as soon as she walked through my door that's what it was – all business.
There is no tom-foolery when it comes to baking apparently.
When I realize that she is expecting me to affirm her rules I clear my throat, "warm eggs, upside down cake, chemistry, and weird British ovens. Got it."
Layla rolls her eyes –a much lighter jade today, the specks of gold clearly shining through- at the deadpan tone I use, but the small smile she tries to hide makes me beam.
The last few weeks had surely been a roller coaster of regret and pain and lips all around but the last few days had been fumbling and awkward and forget forget forget.
Which is seriously easier said than done because Layla is wearing a really light, dainty pink on her lips and all I can seem to think about is what it tastes like.
But, Jaime and forget and so I clear my throat and turn to the array of cooking essentials arranged on my kitchen counter.
"So, what's first?"
"First," the mischievous grin on her face does not bode well, "You put this on."
And then she whips an apron from around her back with –oh god- the design to make it look like I am a woman in a bikini – a woman that is well-endowed in the breast area.
"Oh no, Red. You've got to be kidding me." I choke out between my chuckles of disbelief and she only shrugs innocently, but my laughter dies out when I realize something, "did you go out and buy this for me?"
She instantly flushes.
A stray piece of hair is tucked behind her ear by trembling fingers and Layla looks at her feet, "well, I was at the store and I saw it and it made me think of you so I thought it'd be funny, but I guess you don't really have to-"
"What do you really think of me if I remind you of an apron of a bikini clad woman?" I joke lightly and she bites her lips to hide a smile, but she really needs to stop doing that, "No, I love it. Thank you."
It made me think of you.
Fuck, calm down, Styles.
"How's your mom?" Layla suddenly asks, starting to gather the ingredients.
The question is out of the blue and instantly dampens my mood, my stomach churning at the thought of my ailing mother. Though, Layla asking oddly makes me feel better. Nobody asks about her anymore –like, they are afraid I might break if they do.
"She's... well, as good as expected. Chemo is taking a lot out of her, but she seemed more alert and energetic the last time I saw her. But, I don't think the radiation is actually helping."
Layla remains quiet, washing out a bowl and I fumble with my hands as a means of distraction. A distraction from the thought of my mother and from how tight Layla's jeans are.
Finally, she turns to face me with a soft smile on her face, "well, we'll just have to make her the best damn cake of her life then, huh?"
And maybe it's because she doesn't have pity in her eyes or says sorry or maybe because she is just Layla, but fuck if my heart never beat this hard.
"Yeah, we will."
And we do.
Even though the plan was originally me baking and Layla teaching, I spend the majority of the time eating the chocolate chips and watching her run around mixing things and blending things and telling me what to hand her.
And I can't help but think that this woman in front of me is so different from the one that moved in just four months ago.
The girl of just four months ago could barely look me in the eyes, let alone bake in my kitchen. The girl of four months ago jumped at every loud noise and almost fell into a panic whenever anyone so much as tapped her on the shoulder.
The girl from four months ago was broken.
The girl in front of me now can be in a room with me and keep the door closed. She can speak to me normally and joke around and even tell me about parts of her life. She doesn't jump when I caress her arm or pull away when I hug her.
When I kiss her.
The girl of today may still panic whenever someone shouts at her and may have uncontrollably trembling hands and may still be secretive and guarded.
But this girl is not the same girl as just four months ago and the idea warms my heart.
The girl of today is slowly healing.
Every day I see her changing –coming out of her shell and trusting people more and recovering.
Recovering form whatever she has been through.
"Stop staring at me."
The soft-spoken demand pulls me out of my reverie and I focus back on Layla as she pours a cup of flour into the bowl –cheeks flushed and lip caught between her teeth.
Another thing that is different about her: she never used to confront me for my odd habit of watching her.
Now, since that night on the hill, she always makes it a point to tell me to stop staring and I can just barely make out a veiled meaning: Girlfriend and forget.
And the reminder makes my stomach churn, so I change the subject.
"So where did you learn how to bake?"
She pauses slightly, eyes downcast –no doubt deciding whether or not to share this part of her life- before sighing in defeat, "I've just always had a lot of time on my hands... lots of time to learn who invented bookshelves and how to ice a three layer cake. There wasn't much to do at the orphanage or when I lived with-"
She cuts herself off suddenly, eyes going wide and her hands shaking slightly as she begins to stir the batter.
"Well, I just had a lot of time... My grandma was some kind of baking connoisseur and passed down this giant book of recipes to my mom before she died. They didn't keep much for me after my mom died considering I was so young, but I got the book.
"So, I've just been baking ever since," A small smile curls up her face and she glances up at me with soft eyes, "It's the only connection I have to my family... I don't know... It makes me feel connected to them somehow as weird as that sounds."
My heart lurches, "S'not weird. It's not weird at all. I'm sure you mother would be very happy you put the book to use and your grandma very proud."
She looks at me then, eyes glistening and that same smile on her face. She says nothing, but she doesn't need to, her expression alone tells me that she is very happy to hear that.
And I'm just happy that she spoke about her family a bit more, even if the past isn't very happy or filled with love. Even if what she did say was short and sweet, it was something.
All of the experiences she must have missed flash through my mind: her mum teaching her how to ride a bike, having family dinners on Sundays, being dropped off for her first day of kindergarten, learning from her mum how to bake...
So many important life events never experienced.
The idea makes my heart ache.
Although, I don't have to dwell on it for very long because Layla suddenly dips her finger into the chocolatey mixture in the bowl and dabs it onto my nose.
"Turn that frown upside down."
The action is so out of character and so cute that heat instantly crawls up my neck. For once, Layla doesn't look embarrassed or nervous, no she has this shit-eating grin on her face that has my own curling up and my heart racing.
I childishly stick out my tongue to like up the chocolate, chuckling at the shocked look on Layla's face at my hidden talent of touching my tongue to my nose.
"Ew, Harry, what are you, a dog?" And the way her head tilts back as she laughs so unabashedly, so freely, so loudly, I want to hear that sound forever.
And while she is laughing with her head back and eyes closed I take the opportunity to dip my finger into the chocolate batter and smear it across her own nose, ceasing her laughter and making her rear back in shock.
"I take the time out of my day to teach you how to bake and you have the gall to waste my creation?" She asks, face like stone and once light eyes now stormy.
My stomach instantly churns at her suddenly somber tone and expression and I began to fumble an apology, "I-I'm sorry... I wasn't trying to waste... I was just-"
But, I'm instantly cut off when Layla pulls her wooden spoon from the bowl and without hesitation, swipes the chocolate off right on my cheek.
"You should've seen your face," She chokes out between giggles, clutching her stomach and still holding her weapon of choice as I stand in shock, "I was only joking, Curly."
It's playful and so very rare to see her this relaxed and happy and I really don't want this to end, so with a devilish smirk on my face and nodding my head I pick up my own rubber spatula, making sure to get a good glob of chocolate before facing Layla again.
Instantly, she sobers up, eyeing the chocolate-filled spatula wearily and beginning to back away –dropping the spoon on the floor and facing me with palms-up.
"Let's not get too hasty-"
"You're in for it, Red."
And with that, I break out into a run, Layla squealing and almost tripping on her feet as she runs out of the kitchen. I begin to laugh heartily as I watch her try to maneuver around our small apartment: jumping over a beanbag chair and almost knocking into the coffee table.
Although I made sure to tidy up before she came over, shoes and a skateboard act as an obstacle course as she jumps and dodges each item in her way, laughing the entire time and squealing every time I get too close.
Finally she ends up on one side of the couch and I remain on the other, weapon drawn.
"Let's think rationally here, Harry," She pants out of breath, cheeks flushed, and eyes dancing in the light, "Now, let's make a truce to-"
And before she can even finish her sentence, I flick back the rubber of the spatula, so that the chocolate flies through the air and splatters all over her face, neck and chest. She looks down to see her white pirate shirt stained with drops of chocolate and she looks up in irritation.
"Harry, this is new!"
"But, it looks so much better with polka dots on it, don't you think? Maybe I should add more?"
And I hop onto the couch suddenly, causing her to yelp in surprise and run back to the kitchen, "Don't you dare!"
And this time when she runs from me I able to catch her up against the kitchen counter and I take the liberty to smear the rest of the chocolate on her cheeks as she cringes.
We are both panting and laughing and flushed cheeks and bright eyes and the light in the kitchen is reflecting on an angle of her face so I can see the gold flecks in her eyes. And her laugh is lilting and enthusiastic and my heart is bruising my chest and my laughter quickly dies down.
Because I can't remember the last time I had this much fun, I can't remember the last time I have ever wanted to kiss someone so badly.
It's like a wave of sudden affection for this girl crashes over me and I can do nothing to stop it.
"We didn't even get to use the mix!" She pouts, puffing out her bottom lip in mock sadness, but once she sees the expression on my face, she sobers up.
Now, our breathing picks up for a different reason.
I place my palms on the counter on either side of her, leaning in a fraction just in time to hear her breath hitch. My eyes flit between her eyes and her lips more times than I can count, our breaths mingling in the air between us, but I can't kiss her.
I know I can't kiss her because forget and because girlfriend.
But, I can't completely restrain myself either.
The air between us is thick with tension and anticipation and her eyes drop to my lips as I lean in closer to her face and I lean my forehead against hers lightly before moving my head down.
I duck my head down slightly and lean further in so that my lips just barely graze the flesh of her neck, "We don't want this to go to waste now, do we?"
And with cautious movements and a racing heart my mouth encloses around the drop of chocolate on the collarbone of her throat, gently sucking and licking up the chocolate there.
Instantly her hands latch onto my shoulders and a small gasp leaves her lips, but she doesn't protest my actions and it fuels the fire inside of me –feeding it until it's roaring.
Slowly, achingly slowly, I drag my lips from the base of her throat licking and sucking up every dab of chocolate until I am easing down and trailing the curve of her breast with my lips. Her back arches slightly as soon as my tongue pokes out to lap up the chocolate smeared there, goosebumps prickle her flesh, and her dainty fingers slide further up to tangle themselves in my hair.
And I'm shaking slightly because this is Layla, Layla who wanted to pretend our kiss never happened, that it never meant anything. But, here we are again.
I don't think that this is wrong or that I should stop because all I can think about is the sound that slips past Layla's petal soft lips when I nip gently at her breast before working my way back up her expanse of flesh. All I can think about is that she smells like chocolate and daisies and tastes like sunshine.
I flatten my tongue against the base of her throat and ignore how her hands are shaking in my hair because a guttural moan of, "Harry" rumbles her chest when I clamp my teeth on her ear.
And how this turned from playful to lustful in a second flat is lost on me, but not unbelievable. Because it's Layla.
"Tastes so good." I groan and Layla's' fingers yank at my hair and I'm not sure if I'm referring to the chocolate I am currently licking up from the underside of her jaw or the flesh that lays underneath.
Probably both.
We're both panting and not thinking about how we shouldn't be doing this or that I have a girlfriend or forget.
Because acting like that kiss never happened is impossible.
Not when I feel like this around her. Not when touching her and kissing her makes me feel like this.
Like putting on clothes straight from the dryer –warm and comforting- and you feel safe and familiar from the fabric gently resting against your curves like a lover. Or like the first few seconds of a rollercoaster when you're climbing up up up the hill and you're leaning into the seat and watching the world grow small below you as your heart pumps in anticipation as you wait for the drop.
Kind of like that.
And I am peppering kisses along her jaw, licking up the chocolate when necessary, and she is trembling against me and clawing at my hair and her chest is heaving from the sensation. I place delicate kisses on her cheek, getting most of the chocolate off, but not all before my lips are hovering over hers.
And she finally lets go of my hair to slip her hands down my chest and they shake slightly when my eyes meet hers –dark and full of want. Our breaths mingle together, so close that I can almost taste her -the air electric and filled with need.
Slowly, and gently, as if scared one wrong move could send the other fleeing, our lips graze each other's and it's like the striking of a match.
My heart pounds against my ribs and my throat dries and my stomach churns and skin heats and I want her. I need her. And-
"Monkey!"
And then the door that I must've forgotten to lock flies open and Layla and I jump away from each other like we had been burned.
And we had. I had.
And as soon as Jaime walks into the kitchen I know that I'll turn to ashes.
__________________
WHOO! HAYLA AF.
Harry is bad okay he needs to get his act together. What did you think of their playfulness? The licking of the chocolate? Jaime at the end? Predictions?
So, Louis is daddy af for real now, huh?
Anyway, VOTE + COMMENT