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Recently, you had come upon a video of the dreamiest strawberry chocolate cake you had ever seen, and after watching the tutorial, you figured this was doable. Cue to the present, you had everything prepared for a relaxing afternoon baking session.
All of your ingredients were laid out on the counter. Your tablet was on standby in case you wanted to rewatch the video for clarifications. And last but not least… Zayne was also here. Uninvited, actually.
The moment he learned you were baking, he conveniently made himself available. You had a sneaking suspicion he wanted first bite of your creation once you were done, but even after you told him it would be at least three hours before the cake was ready—and you also pointed out that it might taste better once chilled, but your well-meaning discouragement was politely ignored.
Zayne, for his part, simply smiled and said he wanted to keep you company.
You eyed him suspiciously, but decided not to argue. Perhaps this was a good couple bonding activity, you told yourself, conveniently forgetting the time he was turned into a cat and was annoying you in the kitchen while you were making macarons for the first time.
“Read me the recipe I had written down,” you told Zayne, preparing to measure everything out.
He picked up the piece of paper on the counter and read the steps to you: “Add 1,000 grams of sugar to a bowl with three eggs. Next add—”
“Wait a minute,” you interrupted Zayne, frowning. There was a hint of alarm in your voice as you questioned him, “1,000 grams of sugar is a bit much, isn’t it?”
“It’s not,” he said decisively. He pointedly continued without waiting for your response, “Next—”
Suspicious of him, you tried to peek from behind Zayne at the sheet of paper, but he indiscreetly turned away from you. Annoyed, you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend and started rubbing your hands all over his chest and stomach, the unexpected act surprising him into dropping the sheet of paper. Before Zayne could react, you used your quick hunter’s reflex to seize the paper and your eyes immediately darted to where you had written down the ingredient list.
“Zayne, this says 100 grams!”
“It also says ‘adjust to taste’,” he countered smugly.
“…”
“Let’s make it 1,200 grams instead.”
“Sir, get out of my kitchen.”