Chocolate-Stained Fingers

“Jesus Christ, where is the damn cake?”

I swear to God I had put it in the fridge to cool right before taking a nap in my room. My mind raced backwards: settling the ingredients, measuring the ingredients, mixing the ingredients, baking the cake, frosting the cake, putting the cake in the fridge…and then going to the room to take a short nap. That’s all I could remember. So for the love of God, where was the damn thing? I spent hours preparing and measuring and making and baking – and I had to put the white chocolate sprinkles.

My eyes shoot to the sink.

No traces of dirty dishes or licked spoons or chocolate-covered pans.

My apron wasn’t even there.

Neither were the measuring cups or spoons  that I had used.

And the table was wiped clean, as if I hadn’t used it in the first place.

…did someone replace the dishwashing soap –

Wait.

Did I even bake the cake in the first place?

I remembered every detail – including the fact that I nearly burned the house down.

And that I had used the right amount of eggs this time.

And that I didn’t use salt instead of sugar.

“You look confused, love,” came a voice from behind. I turned to see Matt smiling, pocketing his box of cigarettes. Normally, I’d reprimand him for smoking, but in times like these, I was wondering if my memory was still intact and if I needed to go to the hospital to have myself checked.

“When you came home, was I baking?” he blinked.

“You were asleep in our room, A. You baked?”

“I did…or…I think so,” I bit my lip. “I baked a freaking cake and put it in the fridge. Now, I can’t find the cake and all traces of my baking is gone. So I’m debating whether I really did bake or if I did it in my dreams because hell, even the table is clean when I remember accidentally spilling flour all over it!” he comes closer and sets his hands on my shoulders, trying to calm me down.

“You might have dreamed it, love.” He kisses my head. “Calm down. Do you remember what you did?”

“I made sure not to screw up the cake unlike when we were in the beach house,” I say dryly, and he laughs. “But in all seriousness, I baked the cake and wore my pink apron. I spilled flour on the table and nearly triggered the fire alarm, but it came out looking alright. I frosted the cake, put it in the fridge, and decided to rest – without cleaning up the place.”

He frowns.

“I came home and saw you asleep, and did some work in the living room so you wouldn’t wake up.”

 “Matt. I swear to God I baked something.”

“I believe you.” He kissed me gently. “How about we watch some telly and you think about your cake later?” I nod, and he gives me that smile before walking off.

The man tasted like nicotine and vanilla extract.

I had to remind him to not smoke in the house –

…wait.

Vanilla extract…?

Now, I didn’t really want to believe what I was thinking.

So I followed him to the living room and sat down next to him.

Matt had kissed my cheek yet again, and I buried my head into his shoulder.

“You’re feeling cuddly,” he murmured. I could only nod.

He smelled like chocolate.

Store-bought chocolate.

Pulling away, I laced my fingers into his and squeezed his hand, bringing it up seconds later to plant small kisses on his knuckles.

Brown marks on his fingers.

Dark brown marks I recognized as icing.

“Babe?”

“Mm?”

“Did you put on cologne today?”

“I did, but it wore off a few hours ago. Why?”

I look up at him and smile slightly.

“You smell nice.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he chuckles. “You smell the cologne you got me?”

“No…I smell something else.”

He watched in curiosity as I pulled my hand away and trailed it up his side.

“You smell sweet…I don’t know how to phrase it. Vanilla, maybe? Rather sweet, like sugar. It somehow mixes with the smoke of your cigarette – but that doesn’t mean I like it,” I snort. “Okay. You really, really smell like something I like.”

His eyes aren’t exactly meeting mine.

“And if I think about it…you smell like my cake.”

He laughs.

Just a bit.

Rather weakly.

“Now, Ari…I didn’t eat your cake. I swear.”

I smile sweetly.

“Then can you explain the crumbs on your shirt and the icing on your fingers – oh, and don’t forget the taste of vanilla extract on your lips.”

Matt flushed, eyes darting away.

The sight of him red was adorable, but there were other things on my mind.

Like my damn cake.

“Matt, I’m a police agent and I undertook detective studies in Wammy’s. It won’t take an idiot to realize that you ate my cake and cleaned up the kitchen while I was asleep.”