He shook his head. “I can’t really know that, though, right?” He joined me behind the counter and started scrubbing his hands with a healthy lather of soap.
I punched numbers on the double ovens and set them humming to life. “Yes, you can know that,” I said, starting to retrieve dry ingredients. “You know that because I have told you. That should be enough.”
“Listen,” he said while opening each cupboard in turn. “It’s not just Avery. It’s the distance.”
“What distance?” I said, exasperated. “And stop slamming doors. The mixing bowls are in the lower cupboard to the right of the oven.”
“Thank you,” Kai barked. “I’m not talking about physical distance. I’m talking about emotional distance.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. I was weighing flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt on my counter scale. “You sound like Oprah.”
Kai turned to me abruptly. “That’s low. Do not compare me to Oprah just because you can’t handle an honest conversation. I am nothing like Oprah.”
I pursed my lips but felt laughter rise dangerously within. “You did use the phrase ‘your best life’ with me once.”
He looked indignant. “I did not. I don’t even understand what that means!” He jabbed at the air with my whisk, the other hand gripping a Pyrex measuring cup.
Laughter, a hard and snorty one, escaped my lips. It filled the kitchen with my gasps, all the louder in Kai’s silence. When I’d regained enough control to have only a few hiccups left, I padded over to Kai, who had turned his back to me and was whisking egg whites with a vengeance.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wrapping my arms around him and trying to force him to stop with the bloody whisking. He was doing it far too violently. I definitely needed to be in charge of the whisking. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you.” I hiccupped once and winced.
He sighed and, thank God, put down the whisk. Turning a tight circle to face me without breaking my grip, he studied my face. “I don’t like Avery.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“And I’m pissed he gets to spend so much time with you.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“And I hate your nondisclosure form and that you can tell him stuff you can’t tell me.”
“Me, too.”
“And I’m really proud of you and that people want you on their TV show because you’re awesome.”
I felt The Splotch making its presence known.
“And I’m very, very ready for you to have a break from the show so we can figure out our normal without Avery Michaels popping his head between us every forty-five seconds.”
My sigh came out in a rush. “Yes, yes, and yes. I want that, too.”
He paused a minute, appearing to search my eyes for the answer to a question he wasn’t asking. “Okay,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead. “That’s all I needed to know.” He slapped my rear, hard, as if we were getting ready to go out there and crush the Badgers’ offense. “Now let’s make some cupcakes.” He clapped once and nudged me gently away. “I need space to whisk.”
“No, you really don’t,” I said and commandeered his weapon. “You can fill the cupcake liners.”
He scoffed. “Cupcake liners? Are you even kidding me? Woman, I own my own diner. I know how to make a cake.”
I rolled my eyes. “Listen, if you are really attentive and you do everything perfectly, I might let you whip the buttercream. But only if you promise not to do something weird and diner-y, like crumbling a slice of crispy bacon on top or something.”
He stopped moving. After a moment of silence, he spoke. “That,” he said, “is brilliant.”
I groaned. “This is never going to work,” I said. I watched him search my fridge for bacon, listened to him threaten to go to the store (really quick!) to pick up a pound, and laughed at his sales pitch.
“Seriously,” I said again. “This project is doomed.”
“No!” he retorted, fist in the air. “This, my dear girl, is the perfect example of your ‘best life’! Bacon cupcakes are definitely the best of both our lives put together and then cranked up sixty notches.”
I shook my head and laughed at him, betting the cupcakes would not turn out well and hoping our relationship had much better odds.
20
THE dining room at Thrill still shimmered with light, though all the customers had long ago abandoned their clean plates, their soft linens, their empty glasses. The room radiated calm, a delicious irony since the ten hours before the night’s end were nothing short of controlled chaos. Standing on weary feet in the middle of the room, I took stock of the day.