The Beacon [h.s]

35

Harry Styles

This has got to be the most stressful two hours of my life.

I mean hell, I've killed people, beat them, ran from cops, stolen shit, gone on a million jobs that almost costed me my life, handled my father, but still even then, nothing came close to the stressfulness of baking a fucking cake with Nyla.

She wanted to make something for the party tonight and somehow roped me into helping her make a cake from scratch since we didn't have a pre-made batter that's supposedly in a box, whatever the fuck that meant. I mean, wouldn't the batter go bad sitting in a box on a shelf at a grocery store? Apparently it doesn't because Nyla said so.

I then argued why we couldn't just use the cupcakes we bought at the grocery store, to which Nyla then scolded at me saying how it was rude to offer a half eaten container of food for a party. So I rolled my eyes and reluctantly helped her gather ingredients from the cabinet and fridge.

The frustration started to brew when Nyla was being so fucking extra with the measurements. I barely went over the little red line on the damn measuring cup and she freaked, then made me dump out all the flour into the bag and re-measure it until it was at a perfect three and a quarter cups.

Then as I bit my tongue to not argue with her while I poured the measured flour into the mixing bowl, I grabbed the eggs she handed to me and tried cracking them into the mixing bowl when she then yelped and told me to stop. I sucked in a breath, slowly turning to her while trying not to crush these fucking eggs in my hand.

"You can't just crack them into the mixing bowl, you've gotta do it in another to see if it's good or not." She explained. I silently grabbed yet another bowl, god the amount of fucking dishes I'm gonna have to do after this, and I cracked the damn egg in it revealing, what a surprise, a perfectly good egg.

"Wait, did you take that white thingy out?" Nyla asked while preparing the oven.

I snorted. "White thingy?"

She gave me a blank look before marching up to me, looking down into the small bowl that held the egg. "That!" She pointed a finger to the egg. "You have to take it out." I looked to where she pointed, it was the white part attached to the yolk.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding, Nyla. It's a damn egg! All eggs have this shit!" I snapped, looking at her with wide eyes.

But of course she didn't back down. Instead, she grabbed the bowl herself and took a fork, stabbing the yolk and taking the white part out then tossing it into the trash. "It's gross." She muttered before dumping the egg now without the white part into the mixing bowl.

"I'm a hundred percent sure the people that made that cupcake you ate from the grocery store didn't take out that white thing." I pointed out, rolling my eyes at her.

"Shut up and measure the oil." She ordered with a smirk. And again, I bit my tongue down and started measuring the fucking oil.

It went smoothly for a little while, Nyla told me to start the mixer after I correctly put in all the ingredients. She told me to watch it mix and use the spatula she handed to me to scrape down the sides of the bowl every so often. I did as I was told, watching the batter mix while standing in front of the counter. Though I couldn't help but notice when Nyla came to stand next to me, a little closer than normal.

Our arms were brushing against each other, I was glad she wore a short sleeved shirt, her smooth skin touched mine and I tried my hardest to focus on the damn batter in front of me. And the annoying part was when she leaned into me and I asked her what she was doing, she replied with, "I have no clue what you're talking about. Focus on the batter, Harry." And then she was off to the fridge again, her touch leaving mine to which I eternally groaned.