Chapter 15

Nathan

“Sorry, I’m late.” Ryder arrives at our table in the library. He runs a hand through his dark hair, pushing his fringe out of his face. “Mrs Shapiro wanted me to stay back for some stuff.”

“That’s fine,” I say.

Ryder smiles sheepishly at me, then his gaze travels to the book in front of me. “Hey! Cake book!” He grins and sits beside me. My heart swells with happiness at the familiar comforting warmth of his body beside me.

“Yeah,” I say, “have you ever baked one before?”

He shrugs. “Nah. Felt like too much work for me.”

“Well, maybe I can, uh, bake one with you?” I suggest, feeling oddly jittery. “I mean, if you, um, don’t mind me coming to your house again. . .”

Ryder has gone quiet.

Ryder

Huh? Is he asking me out? But technically, it’s my house so. . . it’s not a date? Maybe it’s a baking date? Does that exist? Bake date, bake date, bake date. . .

Get a grip on yourself, you gay donkey, he just probably wants to hang out, my conscience says. Hm, that’s true. What am I even thinking? My cheeks burn again. To think that he’s asking me out is just plain embarrassing and desperate of me. Oh my god, the humiliation. I bet my ancestors are laughing their asses off at me.

Nathan’s still looking at me, his beautiful doe eyes (they’re teal with curiosity) trained on me, head slightly tilted in expectation. I gulp and try to keep my heart rate normal.

“Uh, y-yeah, yeah,” I stutter, trying to hide the ever-present blush on my face. “Yeah, I d-don’t mind, uh. . . I would actually like that. . .”

He gives me a bashful smile. “Okay, so um, the usual timing?”

“1 pm?”

“Yeah,” he says.

Despite my flustering, I grin. “Yeah,” I say, “that’s cool.”

He lets out a shy laugh. “Okay.”

“So. . . which one?” I begin to flip through the book, but Nathan stops my hand and he flips to a page, pointing.

“This one.”

“Strawberry cake?”

He ducks his head shyly. “I thought it would be nice. . .”

“Yeah, it is,” I reassure him.

“Um. . .do you want to go buy the ingredients with me?”

Again, cue the panic attack.

“I mean, if you already have them, then it’s f- ”

I cut him off. “I, uh, don’t have strawberries. I have to check later if I still have flour and butter.”

“Okay.” He smiles and I smile back too.

Oh my god, I can’t wait for tomorrow.

*

We just came back from the supermarket with the ingredients. I couldn’t stop thinking of how adorable Nathan looked when he was looking for strawberries. We also bought a couple bottles of toppings because we couldn’t decide if rainbow sprinkles looked better on the cake than silver balls.

Together, we set up the things needed for the cake. I preheat the oven while Nathan takes out the printed recipe (he told me last night that he’d found a simpler recipe) and we stand together at the counter.

“Alright.” I clap. “This is where the magic begins.”

Nathan

“Just so you know,” Ryder says as he sifts flour, “I haven’t actually baked anything aside from cookies so don’t expect too much.”

I laugh. “Just so you know” - I crack an egg - “I haven’t tried cooking or baking, so don’t expect too much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

After I finish cracking the eggs, Ryder hands me a bowl with butter and sugar.

“Oh, okay. . .” I take the bowl.

“Just keep mixing, I’ll add in others slowly.”

So I do. Well, I’m trying to.

“Oh my god, Nathan,” he says, suddenly behind me. “That’s not how you mix!” He chuckles lightly and puts his chin on my shoulder.

My breath hitches at the warmth of his breath fanning my cheek and my heart does somersaults. “Oh. . .uh, sorry.”

“Don’t be. Come, I’ll show you.” Ryder guides my hand and I’m eventually mixing correctly.

I grin. “Welp. That was easy.”

“Haha! Okay, I’ll be adding the eggs one by one,” he says as he goes to get the bowl of eggs. “Just keep mixing.”

I nod, and he starts adding in the eggs, along with a few drops of vanilla. I continue mixing until I notice that Ryder’s stopped moving. I look at him. Those turquoise eyes of his are looking at me with awe. Confused, I tilt my head.

“Ryder,” I ask, “are you okay?”

He snaps out of his trance and shakes his head, his cheeks tinting red. “Oh, y-yeah,” he stumbles. “Why don’t I, uh, mix now? It’s going to be a little tough here.”

“Oh, okay.” I pass the bowl to him.

Slowly, I add in the sifted flour and milk, alternating between them. Ryder expertly beats them together, making me feel inferior. After we prepare the cake batter, I grease the cake pans. Ryder has only two small round ones, but that’s good enough. I divide the batter between them and then he puts them in the oven.

I pick up the recipe from the counter. “Alright,” I say, “now the frosting.”

Ryder leans towards me to read it. “Okay.” He looks at me. “Can I trust you with whipping the cream while I cut strawberries?”

“Yeah, um, I’ll try.”

He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “Good luck!”

So far, I’m doing well. My arm hurts so much but at least the cream looks fluffy enough. Ryder adds in the chopped strawberries into it and I fold everything together. So far so good. I taste a small bit of the strawberry cream frosting. Ryder holds my hopeful gaze as the creamy sweetness fills my tongue.

“Perfect.” I smile.

After the cake layers have been cooled, we stack them (although they’re slightly off-centre). I spread the frosting all around and Ryder carefully adds sliced strawberries on the top of the cake. Afterwards, I touch it up with silver balls as Ryder sprinkles rainbow bits. Then, we step back from our creation, holding our breath.

“Oh my god,” Ryder whispers, “it’s so so beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is.” I agree.

He touches my arm. “If this somehow ends up being a total fail, I have instant anything if you want something to eat - noodles, pasta, mac & cheese. . .”

“Are you losing faith in us?” I laugh.

“Maybe,” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice.

I slice us a piece. Ryder sits down while I continue standing. “Well” - I raise the fork to my lips - “here goes nothing.” And I take a bite.

Oh my, the sweet frosting and the spongy cake and the juiciness of the strawberries - it’s all so good! I take another bite and another and another. Ryder chuckles and looks at the cake.

“It’s so good!” I say, and raise my hand for a high-five.

Then, he looks up at me and my raised hand and he flinches.

I freeze.

Ryder lowers his hands from his head and looks away, but I could see the tears in his eyes.

Oh no.

I lower my hand and sit down. Ryder stares straight ahead, trying to stop the tears that are threatening to spill but to no avail. I've never seen him cry before. Frankly, I thought that he was the kind of person who never cries. But here he is, and I don't know what to do. I quietly curse my bad social skills. Should I. . . hug him? I've seen many people doing that. (I’m sort of good with words, but not this.) Instead, I just awkwardly pat his back.

"Are you okay?" I ask him.

"I'm fine," he says angrily, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

I pull away, at a loss of what to do. The way he flinched, with his hands shielding his face, it's as if he thought I was going to hit him. He looked so vulnerable, like a small child, who probably had gotten hit so many times his reflex is to shield himself every time.

I try again, my hand on his shoulder. "Ryder . . ."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm fine, Nathan," he says, this time a little gentler. Then, he picks up his fork and takes a bite of the cake. "That's good!" he says through a mouthful, but he sees my earnest look and quietly apologises, "Sorry."

"That's okay," I say. "Do you. . . want to talk about it?"

He looks away for a second, taking a deep breath. Then, his turquoise eyes meet mine.