Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Noel
When the kitchen is clean, Kinsley and I enjoy the leftover batter. We're still covered in flour, but that's okay. She takes the spatula. I take the beaters. Everything about this cake is delicious. While we were making it, Kinsley said the secret is using oil instead of butter, buttermilk instead of regular milk, and adding coffee. The bitterness brings out a depth of flavour and cuts the sweetness when the icing is added.
Clean up takes almost double the time. Our flour war wasn't smart, but it was worth it. Especially now that we're enjoying delicious chocolate batter.
Seriously, I can't get enough of it.
"This is my favourite part," I say.
Kinsley frowns. "You don't like cake?"
"I do," I reply. "Just not as much as the batter. It's like cookie dough. Cookie dough is superior to baked cookies."
She pulls her lips to one side while nodding. "Fair point."
Gesturing to the oven, I ask, "Do you bake often?"
Kinsley glances at the oven. The cake has two more minutes to go before it's done. "Not as much as I used to," she admits. "Baking is impossible during university. When I'm home, I'll sometimes bake with whatever's in season from Grandma's garden." A small smile curves across her lips. "Carrot cake is my favourite. There's nothing better than carrot cake made from fresh carrots."
"What's the secret to a perfect carrot cake?" I ask.
She watches as I lick the remnants of chocolate cake batter. Several dirty thoughts cross my mind. There's a helluva lot more I could do with this tongue. Things I want to do. Although my thoughts are downright embarrassing, I cut myself some slack. I'm attracted to her, but it's not like I'm acting on my thoughts. I never would unless she wanted me to.
"You don't grate the carrots. Big mistake. Instead, you run them through a food processor until they resemble wet sand. It adds extra moisture and promises a moist cake as opposed to a dry one."
Before Grams passed away, she would bake a lot. Carrot cake was never on the list. Nor is it in her box of old recipes. But Grams did bake a similar cake with zucchini. A chocolate zucchini cake. It was delicious. Especially with that dark chocolate drizzle overtop.
The oven timer goes off. Pulling on a pair of oven mitts, Kinsley removes the cake and sets it on a cooling rack atop the stove. She then removes the oven mitts and grabs a butter knife. With the butter knife, she drags it around the edges of the cake. Then she flips the pan over. The cake spills out in a perfect bundt shape while steam dissipates into the air.
"Shouldn't you let it sit for a while?" I ask.
Kinsley shrugs. "You're supposed to. I never do, though. If you do, the outside overcooks and you get a tough crust. But that's just my opinion. Not everyone will agree."
