Advent Calendar, Day Three: "The Stakes of the Game"
This is set post-series, marginally in the MFI universe, but it's enough to know they're in London together:
"The Stakes of the Game"
“You’ve never made Christmas cookies?”
The way Betty was staring at him in consternation made Daniel feel like he’d just confessed to being a space alien. “No. We ordered them from Magnolia Bakery, like everyone else.”
“Not everyone.” She circled around behind him and pushed him into the kitchen; he pretended to resist, just enough to make her laugh. “Come on. Time to learn.”
Daniel felt like he’d learned everything else from Betty - at least, everything really worth knowing. So. Cookies. He could do this.
“There’s probably a recipe in one of these cookbooks, right?” He went for the pile of cookbooks they kept in one corner of his tragically small kitchen. They’d picked them up at secondhand shops, mostly, as part of their still-new project of learning to cook together. So far their experiments had been few - and mostly disastrous - but all that matter was that they were in it together. (Well, that and they had a great Indian delivery place down the road, in case of emergency.) “But if you’ve made Christmas cookies, I guess you don’t need a recipe.”
“Hmm. Well.” Suddenly Betty’s cute bossiness turned into her equally cute hesitation. “I might have had some help at home.”
“Your dad, right?” Ignacio Suarez’s cupcakes were legendary.
“But I always helped!” she insisted. “So we can do this.”
Daniel pointed again at the cookbooks. “Or we could look something up.”
“Okay, Mr. Smartypants, what we have now is a competition.” Betty beamed at him. “My family traditions versus something you look up in a book we found for a pound-fifty. If I win, you - you take me out to dinner tomorrow night at the nicest restaurant where you can still get a reservation.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, what do I get if I win?”
“One night in bed where I do anything you want.”
Okay, it had just gotten a whole lot more difficult to think about baked goods. He leaned closer to Betty and murmured, “I like this competition.”
Her smile was only a few inches from his lips. “Thought you would.”
Then Betty whirled around as though someone had just yelled go! Daniel laughed and went for the cookbooks. The game was on. They both knew Betty would win, of course - but he hardly minded.
**
“I just don’t understand,” Betty said.
On her baking sheet were a dozen cookies … or the smoldering discs that might, at some point in their brief unscorched existence, have been cookies. Meanwhile, Daniel was sprinkling colored green and red sugar atop what were, in his opinion, pretty much perfect sugar cookies.
“It’s probably the oven temperature thing.” Ovens were different on this side of the Atlantic, or so Daniel had been given to understand. (He’d never come close enough to an American oven to be entirely certain.)
“I guess.” Betty’s cheeks colored. “Or possibly the fact that I usually contributed Slice-N-Bake.”
“You challenged me to a baking contest even though you’d never done it before?”
“You hadn’t either!”
“I had a recipe.”
“Yeah. Key advantage there. I guess I thought I remembered more of what my dad was doing than I did.” She gave him a sidelong look. “Besides, you turned out to be kind of good at this.”
He had, hadn’t he? Daniel rarely turned out to be good at anything handy, but baking was different. “Baking’s not like cooking, where everyone’s talking about ‘instincts’ or ‘to taste’ or any of that stuff. You just follow the instructions and it works.”
“It works for you.” Betty glumly shook her baking sheet into the garbage, where the still-smoldering cookies tumbled down.
“Hey, cheer up.” Daniel hugged her from behind. “We’re both still learning.”
“But you still won.”
Only now did Daniel remember the stakes. “I did, didn’t I?”
Betty put her hands over his and began to guide them to more interesting places. “Can’t say I’m a sore loser.”
What with one thing and another, they didn’t get around to actually eating any of his perfect sugar cookies until almost midnight.
And it wasn’t until the next year - when Betty turned out plate after plate of perfect cookies before their first Christmas party in their new shared flat - that Daniel realized she’d thrown the contest because she liked his prize better than her own.
"The Stakes of the Game"
“You’ve never made Christmas cookies?”
The way Betty was staring at him in consternation made Daniel feel like he’d just confessed to being a space alien. “No. We ordered them from Magnolia Bakery, like everyone else.”
“Not everyone.” She circled around behind him and pushed him into the kitchen; he pretended to resist, just enough to make her laugh. “Come on. Time to learn.”
Daniel felt like he’d learned everything else from Betty - at least, everything really worth knowing. So. Cookies. He could do this.
“There’s probably a recipe in one of these cookbooks, right?” He went for the pile of cookbooks they kept in one corner of his tragically small kitchen. They’d picked them up at secondhand shops, mostly, as part of their still-new project of learning to cook together. So far their experiments had been few - and mostly disastrous - but all that matter was that they were in it together. (Well, that and they had a great Indian delivery place down the road, in case of emergency.) “But if you’ve made Christmas cookies, I guess you don’t need a recipe.”
“Hmm. Well.” Suddenly Betty’s cute bossiness turned into her equally cute hesitation. “I might have had some help at home.”
“Your dad, right?” Ignacio Suarez’s cupcakes were legendary.
“But I always helped!” she insisted. “So we can do this.”
Daniel pointed again at the cookbooks. “Or we could look something up.”
“Okay, Mr. Smartypants, what we have now is a competition.” Betty beamed at him. “My family traditions versus something you look up in a book we found for a pound-fifty. If I win, you - you take me out to dinner tomorrow night at the nicest restaurant where you can still get a reservation.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, what do I get if I win?”
“One night in bed where I do anything you want.”
Okay, it had just gotten a whole lot more difficult to think about baked goods. He leaned closer to Betty and murmured, “I like this competition.”
Her smile was only a few inches from his lips. “Thought you would.”
Then Betty whirled around as though someone had just yelled go! Daniel laughed and went for the cookbooks. The game was on. They both knew Betty would win, of course - but he hardly minded.
**
“I just don’t understand,” Betty said.
On her baking sheet were a dozen cookies … or the smoldering discs that might, at some point in their brief unscorched existence, have been cookies. Meanwhile, Daniel was sprinkling colored green and red sugar atop what were, in his opinion, pretty much perfect sugar cookies.
“It’s probably the oven temperature thing.” Ovens were different on this side of the Atlantic, or so Daniel had been given to understand. (He’d never come close enough to an American oven to be entirely certain.)
“I guess.” Betty’s cheeks colored. “Or possibly the fact that I usually contributed Slice-N-Bake.”
“You challenged me to a baking contest even though you’d never done it before?”
“You hadn’t either!”
“I had a recipe.”
“Yeah. Key advantage there. I guess I thought I remembered more of what my dad was doing than I did.” She gave him a sidelong look. “Besides, you turned out to be kind of good at this.”
He had, hadn’t he? Daniel rarely turned out to be good at anything handy, but baking was different. “Baking’s not like cooking, where everyone’s talking about ‘instincts’ or ‘to taste’ or any of that stuff. You just follow the instructions and it works.”
“It works for you.” Betty glumly shook her baking sheet into the garbage, where the still-smoldering cookies tumbled down.
“Hey, cheer up.” Daniel hugged her from behind. “We’re both still learning.”
“But you still won.”
Only now did Daniel remember the stakes. “I did, didn’t I?”
Betty put her hands over his and began to guide them to more interesting places. “Can’t say I’m a sore loser.”
What with one thing and another, they didn’t get around to actually eating any of his perfect sugar cookies until almost midnight.
And it wasn’t until the next year - when Betty turned out plate after plate of perfect cookies before their first Christmas party in their new shared flat - that Daniel realized she’d thrown the contest because she liked his prize better than her own.