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IT SEEMED AS IF ALL THE POGUES WERE BUSY AS SOON AS SUMMER BEGAN. John B was hanging with Sarah, Kiara had to help out her dad at The Wreck, Pope was getting the last of his community service hours, and your boyfriend wasn’t answering his phone at all.
You had the house to yourself considering your parent were out on yet another business trip and you, being used to their absence, knew they wouldn’t be back for another week at least.
It was around 2pm that your immense boredom and the unbearable silence of your home had taken over, prompting you to get out of bed and to look for something, anything, to do.
You tried looking for something to watch, all the shows seemingly uninteresting or cheesy. You tried stepping outside for some fresh air but the scorching sun that typically adorned the sky of the OBX didn’t seem as appealing as it normally did, almost immediately bringing on a headache.
So, here you were, rummaging through the cupboards in your kitchen for who knows what.
Opening the cabinet just above the stove, you found some baking essentials—flour, icing, sugar, etc. You remembered your mom kept a recipe book from your late grandmother who loved baking with her whole heart.
She made all of your birthday cakes and treats and it became a staple of hers.
The only problem was you didn’t exactly know where said recipe book was. Your mother never told you. But it had to be in the kitchen somewhere.
AFTER a couple minutes of going from cabinet to cabinet, drawer to drawer—you found the little recipe book. A small brown notebook that your grandmother printed her name on to. The small thing barely able to close with how full it was; inked pages, colored tabs sticking out of the side.
Sitting down on the counter-top, something your mother would surely scold you for, you flipped through it—searching for anything that sounded appealing.
A couple minutes pass and one page catches your attention. Valentine’s Day Filled Strawberry Cupcakes. A brief glance over the recipe told you it was essentially just vanilla cupcakes iced with strawberry cream cheese icing and some kind of strawberry-purée filled center. Now, of course, it was nowhere near Valentine’s Day but… who says it had to be in order spread a little love?
A smile crept its way onto your face, that sounds so damn good right now. You loved strawberries, you loved cupcakes, and you hadn’t eaten anything all day.
You went back to the now open cabinet that sparked this idea, pulling out some of the ingredients that the cupcakes required; flour, sugar, baking powder, and vanilla extract. Moving to the fridge, you pulled out more. Eggs, Butter, Milk, Strawberry Cream Cheese… —who bought all of this? Your parents aren’t necessarily home to cook often and you usually order something or eat with the Pogues. You should be grateful, you guess.
There were a couple of other ingredients you gathered and some things labeled as optional such as sprinkles and food coloring.
With everything laid out in front of you—the ingredients, the mixer, and your utensils, you washed your hands, dried them and turned to pre-heat the oven.
“Let’s try not to screw this up.”
“SHIT!” That was the sixth time you had over-filled one of the cupcakes tins. You wouldn’t be so upset if it wasn’t such a frustrating task to un-fill it, having to scoop out some of the batter and drag it, very messily, to the next tin, little splotches of pink-ish batter scattered all over the metal pan.
While you were wiping your hands on the apron you had conveniently found after you got flour on your shirt, there was a distinct knock at the door that let you know who was there before you even opened it.
Groaning slightly, you trudged over to your front door. Swinging it open, quite aggressively might I add, letting a gust of wind in that swayed your loose apron and dusted some of the flour off of you.
“Woah, what…happened?” Your boyfriend chuckled, still standing on your doorstep. He was visibly trying to hold in a laugh, causing your hand to fall from the door and cross them both over your chest.
“It’s not funny.” You huffed, glaring at him. You turned on your feet and began to make your way back into the kitchen, noting the sound of his heavy boots entering, closing the front door, and continuing to trail after you.
You came to stand back in front of your half-filled tray of cupcake batter. JJ entered the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, taking in the chaos before him. Batter-covered spatulas and spoons in the sink, measuring spoons covered in flour, egg shells sitting at the top of the waste bin. There was so much going on.
“Oh. I really like what you’ve done with the place.” He joked.
When he took in your seriously defeated expression looking down at the tray in front of you, he entered the kitchen and made his way over to you. Wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder, feeling your tense shoulders deflate. “What’s wrong?”
“What else? Everything is a mess.” You grumbled. It truly wasn’t that serious but you couldn’t deny that you were beyond frustrated.
He suddenly found the situation less humorous. Albeit, you’d probably be laughing about it too once you actually got the task done but he knew how frustrated you got when you felt like you couldn’t do something or it didn’t go as smoothly as you had hoped. No matter how small or big it actually was.
He unraveled himself from your waist and he turned your body to face him by your upper arms. His hands dropped to the counter behind you, careful not to knock anything over. His face now inches from yours, eyes glazing over your grumpy expression.
You quirked a brow, a silent expression of your confusion. From your perspective, he was just staring at you. Suddenly, one of his hands came up to brush his thumb in between your eyebrows. “Fix your face. They’re just cupcakes, sweetheart.” He spoke softly and smiled, trying to uplift you.
Whether it was shown on your face or not, it was working. “But it shouldn’t be this difficult. I went over the recipe like ten fu-
”Language.“
You rolled your eyes slightly and sighed, throwing your head back slightly. "Maybe I’m just tired. Or hungry. Or lonely because all my friends are busy and my boyfriend wouldn’t answer his phone-”
“Ow!” He cried when you plucked his arm. “Uh, for starters, I was busy, too. Little Miss Violent…” He muttered in mock offense, rubbing the spot where you pinched him lightly. “Some Kook was looking for someone to mow their yard quickly for 200 bucks, which is insane, so I took it. I didn’t see your call until I was done and I thought I’d come over to see you.”
“Is that why you smell like grass?” You questioned teasingly, a visible smile edging its way on to your face.
“Shut up.” The blonde spoke, seeing the smile you tried so hard to hide. He grabbed the sides of your face and pecked your lips multiple times.
“JJ!- C'mon-”
He stopped and let your face go, he moved his hands to ruffle your hair. “You’re so cute when you smile.” The boy gushed. “Now, do you want some help? Because, I for one, am an excellent baker.”
You snorted at that, causing the blonde boy to quirk an eyebrow. “Are you now?” You inquired, moving past him to wash the mess off of your hands.
“I bake brownies all the time.” He assured from behind you.
“Edibles. You make edibles all the time.”
“Same difference. They’re just fun brownies. We could also make the cupcakes fun-”
“We’re not putting weed in the cupcakes, JJ.” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “But, if you want to help—see if you have more luck pouring the batter in than I did. Don’t over-fill them though, just a little past the-”
“I got it, I got it…” He cut you off while you dried your hands and he began to pour the batter in with ease.
“Well, excuse me.” You teased.
After a few minutes, JJ had poured the batter in the tray with minimal effort and he did it near perfect. He took a dramatic bow and winked, eliciting and eye-roll from you as you slid the tray carefully into the oven. Before you could fully close it, JJ spoke.
“Are you sure we can’t just a put a little-”
“No weed in the cupcakes!”