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"why'd you say happy birthday to dixie damelio and not me?" clay asks, making sure that there's no possible way his face could be seen by the camera.
he's nervous, truthfully. he's not sure why he agreed to it. there's so many things that could happen. but riley was really excited for it, and clay couldn't say no to her, and... well it was too late to back out now.
"its her birthday." riley grabs two wine glasses from his cupboard.
"but..." clay rolls his eyes, "i hate you."
"that's mean," she says, handing him a glass of red wine, "now drink up, babe."
"riley!"
clay hadn't baked a cake since fourth grade, and that was over at his best friend, riley leishmans, house.
and that... well it had gone horrible.
it turns out riley's mom had used all the sugar the day before (because she was making treats for a bake sale) so they substituted brown sugar and cinnamon. yeah, you can imagine how it turned out.
and now they were standing in clays kitchen, about to do the exact same thing. except this time with sugar. hopefully.
riley was getting progressively more tipsy (lightweight lol) and clay was being conservative with his wine. the first glass she had poured was barely touched.
it's not that he'd didn't want to drink, i mean he was twenty one, he legally could, it was that he didn't want to drink around riley. not on camera, especially.
he figured she'd be staying the night, and his thoughts were confirmed when she appeared in the kitchen wearing a pair of his plaid pajama pants and his florida gators shirt.
if he wasn't already in love, that surely did it.
"oven is on, let's get this bitch made!" riley yells, pouring the entire bag of flour into the green mixing bowl before clay can protest.
he just sighs, leaning against the counter as she erupts into a fit of giggles.
"we only need three cups, ri."
she glances up at him, shrugging.
"threes a party."
clay shakes his head, pushing himself off the counter and moving towards her, "that is definitely not the saying."
as soon as his hands come into frame, the chat erupts. he watches it briefly from his phone, trying and failing to read it as it zooms by.
"my grandma always said when you're baking you gotta feel the right amount of shit in your heart."
clay smiles at her. she's really something when she's drunk, isn't she?
"are you feeling the right amount of shit in your heart?"
