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“Ok…try this.” Braeden holds the spoon thick with batter out to Derek for him to taste. She’d learned her lesson this time. One batch had too much egg. The other not enough. One had too much sugar. And that’s not including the undercooked, overcooked, and hard as brick patches that had been thrown out.
“Mm…” Derek starts and then finishes with a groan. A displeased one.
Her shoulders slump, “What’s wrong with this one?”
“It’s salty.”
“Salty?” she asks incredulous.
Derek sighs and crosses his arms leaning back against the kitchen counter, “You really, really don’t have to do this you know that right?”
“Yeah I do. They said your girl can’t cook. Your girl doesn’t back down from a challenge.” She tells him enunciating her point with the wooden spoon batter still attached to it.
It was really all Isaac’s fault. During a pack barbecue at the McCall house. Derek had brought a brisket and Isaac had been so sure that Braeden had nothing to do with the preparing of it because she was a terrible cook (I mean…she was. But that wasn’t the point.)
“My girl also really likes referring to herself in the third person.” Derek mumbles and at her raised eyebrows he sighs, smiles and pushes off the counter, “OK…how much salt did you use?”
“A dash—just like the recipe said.”
Derek takes the canister of salt, hands it to her, then holds out his hand, “Show me a dash.”
She takes his hand and pours out an amount and only stops when Derek squawks, “Th-that’s more than a dash. That’s…that’s—oh man.”
She sees him trying to hold back his snicker and then fail miserably as his face reddens and he bursts out laughing. Braeden scoops up a glob of the too salty batter and smears it in his face.
“Salty enough for you?” she smirks when he stops abruptly.
Braeden was a US Marshall and a trained mercenary. She still gets half-tackled to the ground by a werewolf looking to exact revenge for ingesting a glob of salty cookie batter.
“Hey, whoa! No!” she laughs as they wrestle. By the time Derek gets her shirt up enough to blow a raspberry on her belly Braeden has tears in her eyes and she never used to be this person. She never used to want to be this person.
She was content (at least she thought she was) on her own with a few guys and girls here and there to keep her company.
But then Derek. Derek Hale happened and now she wants. She wants—
Wednesday afternoons filled with failed cooking attempts. She wants Sunday morning trips to the Farmer’s Market to haggle over strawberries. She wants calm, long nights in the bathtub while he massages into her scalp. Siting on the kitchen counter in his dress shirt and nothing else while he makes her coconut pie. Thursday evenings in his living room teaching him what the electric slide is.
And she never used to be this person. But then Derek Hale happened.