Purposefully Coincidental ✓

23. Icing

Josephine

I wipe the perspiration away from my temple with my wrist. The second batch of cookies isn't going as smoothly as the first. And I still need to make buttercream so I can pipe the muffins.

Tomorrow is Ananya's twenty-fourth birthday, and I'm bringing some goodies for the break room so we can sing her happy birthday and embarrass her.

Today I had a day off and I spent it deep cleaning the house, showering and now baking.

I'm wearing an old pair of jogging pants that have little holes in the front and probably in the back too, and a tank top.

Taking a chunk of the cookie dough, I decide to knead it with my hands to see how it turns out because my Artisan mixer isn't working as I'd like it to.

As I'm kneading the dough, a knock sounds at the door, then another one follows.

For a second I think it's one of my brothers, but they would've entered my place already.

I quickly wipe my hands on my apron and open the door.

Leo is standing there with a white shirt and dark jeans. His hair is long and messy on top of his head.

He gives me a sheepish smile. "Hey."

"Hey." I say back.

"Did I interrupt something? Are you busy?" He takes a hand through his mane. There's no gel there. He never uses gel on his hair, instead letting the strands fall whatever way they please. I like that.

"No, no." I open the door further. "Come in."

"Hmm. Smells nice." He closes the door and takes off his shoes. "What are you making?"

"Cookies," I grumble.

"Why the sad face?" He chuckles and leans his elbows on the other side of the counter where I'm working.

I look at his face. His eyes appear lighter and there are little more freckles on the bridge of his nose from all the Miami sun.

"Because, for some reason, this batch isn't going as planned." I groan as I push the dough with the heel of my palm.

"I wish I could help, but I have zero knowledge about baking." He offers. "Or cooking, really."

I stop my hands. "You can't cook?"

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth crooked.

"At least you know how to make pasta, right?" It's an unwritten rule when you're Italian that you have to know how to make pasta.

"Nope. Never learned how to." He shrugs and frames his face with his hands, his elbows still on the counter.

"Are you even Italian?" I question.

His arm reaches out, and he boops my nose. "Cute." He murmurs.

I continue with my cookies as he rounds the counter and stands to my side.

"I'm a fast learner, though." His elbows touch my shoulder. I peer at him and his eyes are focused on me.

"Okay," I look around for what he can do. "Can you get me the milk from the fridge?"

"Copy that."

I ditch the second batch of cookie dough and decide we can eat it later. Instead, we work together on making the icing for the muffins. I teach him the basics of baking throughout and he listens and asks further questions.

His arms would occasionally touch my shoulder as we move around my small kitchen. I would bump my back into his front and he would steady me by grabbing onto my upper arms.