His Little Runt

Chapter 2

Alairia

The smoke alarm is going off.

Again.

"What is that now, the fifth time today?" I ask as I wave the towel under the alarm. "I thought we agreed that new recipes are to be tested at home?"

Mario glares. "It's not new. I'm just not you." Then he smirks before adding, "Hey, that rhymed."

I rub my temple. I had thought hiring somebody to tend to the bakery when I can't be here would be nice, but the person in front of me is really pushing that theory.

"What did you try to make?" I ask, waving at the smoke clouding my kitchen.

His hand reaches back to rub his neck, something I've come to know he does only when he's nervous.

"I kinda tried too.... Umm..."

His mutters and mumbles continue, and I blow a lock of hair off my forehead as I wait.

A waft of peppermint floats beneath my nose, and I gasp.

"You didn't!" I reach for the handle of the oven. "Mario Radall Constance, you did not waste my crushed peppermint to experiment on something!"

"I-maybe?" He squeaks.

The evidence glares at me as I open the oven, melted piles of red and white plopped all over the oven and my favourite pan.

Frustration rises but I quickly push it down. I take a deep breath, try and fail to relax my shoulders, and then turn to face him.

"I'm sorry. I should have been more clear on what I wanted you to do," I say calmly. "Why don't you take a break for today? Try again tomorrow?"

He pulls a piece of gum out of his pocket before tossing it in his mouth and saying, "Really? Would you tell my mom you said that? Because if I go home early she's definitely gonna give me the whole "cousins help cousins" speech again."

Disappointment wiggles its way through my heart at the realization that he's not here to help me, but instead to keep his mom happy.

I let out an incredulous laugh, careful to keep the smile on my face as I ask, "Still trying to get back on her good side, huh?"

He groans as he grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. "Who knew lighting fireworks inside her kitchen would be enough for a lifelong grudge?"

I shake my head at him. "You're kind of insane sometimes, you know that?"

He smirks, his hand grabbing the door handle before he says, "The ladies love it."

"Uh huh, I'm sure they do," I say, making a shooing motion with my hands.

His laughter slowly fades as the door to the kitchen closes, and I realize my shoulders have drooped with every inch it moves until it's shut and I'm alone. As always.

It turns out being the runt of a pack doesn't exactly make you desirable company, and that's evidenced in the way that my cousin is the only help I can find, and even he was here against his wishes.

My baked goods bring in people during the day, but they don't bring in conversation, and once that sign on my door flips, I'm left by myself.

I wish I was an introvert who could occupy herself when she's alone, be fine to drown in silence and still be able to breathe, love the solitude this kitchen brings me, but I don't. I'm an extrovert with entirely too much to say and a mind that dreads the minute I shut my door every night.

I sigh as I survey the candy crusted oven, debating the best way to clean it.

I could just buy a new oven....

I let out a frustrated huff as I grab a scrub brush from the sink, knowing full well that I could never part with this machine of magic. I swear it has abilities. I tried making cookies at home and they just lacked something that they never did when I made them here.

The sound of rough scratching fills the entire room until it's all I hear, but it helps me focus. The motion is calming somehow.

Back and forth. Side to side. Scrape here, scrub there. Back and forth. Side to si-

"You know, I rather like the sight of you on your knees."

I yelp, whipping my head up and unbelievably underestimating the distance from my head to the top of the oven. I grunt as my head smacks into the top of the still warm metal, hissing as I rub the smarting spot over and over.

Calloused hands are suddenly covering mine, tilting my head as they shuffle through my hair and look for the bump that's no doubt forming as we sit here.

"You would think my constant coming here would make you accustomed to my surprise, but alas, here we are."

"You aren't supposed to be here," I mutter, cringing as he prods around the sensitive skin on my head.

"Ouch. Words hurt, cupcake."

The closeness of Caden is suddenly too much, and I stand up so fast that stars float across my vision before fading, allowing me to take a couple steps back.

"Why are you here?" I ask, my voice small.

His eyes search mine, swirls of grey orbs seeming to look at my soul. It always seems that way when he's around, like he can look past every pretence I set up without any effort.

"Your damsel in distressedness is like a giant help me sign flashing on your roof. I skipped a meeting to come here and make sure you weren't dying," Caden says, and I see a smirk slowly climb up his lips.

I glare, debating whether to throw the scrub brush at him or if maybe my mixing bowl would be a better idea.

"It's Saturday," I point out. "You don't have meetings on Saturdays."

His smirk turn into a full on goofy smile as he says, "Already familiar with my schedule, cupcake? I think the next step might be marriage."

A bag of boulders drop into my stomach, and my expression falls before I can stop it. I try to pull up a smile, but Caden already saw the damage.

He rubs his jaw, an apologetic expression coming into view as he says, "It was a joke, Al. I'm sorry."

I brush my hands on my suddenly too tight jeans as I look around at my messy kitchen.

"I have a lot to do and it's already pretty late," I start, hoping my voice doesn't shake. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Regret is painted across every line of his face, and I don't miss the pain that dots his eyes. "Alairia, I can-"

"Please, Caden," I whisper.

He sighs, the sound blowing the winds of a thousand words into the air. A thousand words that pass between us silently. A thousand words that I ignore because I'm a coward. A thousand words that go unspoken because he's respectful. A thousand words that stay hidden because he's a gentleman. A thousand words that will probably never be said. A thousand words that walk out the door with him, burning a trail with every step he takes.

Words are a powerful thing, and in this instance, they could break the world. Or maybe just me.