Chapter 29
Anna
I found the waffle maker in a lower cupboard. It was small, but nice – brand new and still in the box. Unlike the restaurant, it didn't make big round Belgian waffles, but rather smaller heart-shaped waffles, one at a time.
I stared at the picture on the box.Heart shaped?Thishadto be a joke. There was no love in this house, that's for sure.
I'd never made waffles before. Oh sure, I'd put the toppings on them, but that was hardly the same as making them from beginning to end.
But how hard could it be?At the restaurant, they used a mix. Searching Flynn's pantry, I found no waffle mix, but Ididfind a box of pancake mix that could be adapted for waffles – at least if the box was telling the truth.
I wasn't even sure why I was going to all the trouble. If Flynn thought I was going to be his personal chef, he was in for a rude surprise.
It was disappointing in a way. I loved cooking. I loved baking, too. I especially loved cooking for people I cared about.
But Flynn wasn't one of those people. He was rude, abrasive, and seemed to get off on goading me.
The thought had barely crossed my mind when I felt my lips curve into a slow, evil smile. He wanted waffles?Oh, I'd give him waffles, all right.
I was monitoring my third waffle in the maker when Flynn suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. With a grimace, he said, "What the hell is that smell?"
I gave him my sweetest smile. "Waffles, just like you asked."
His gaze drifted to the waffle maker, sitting on the kitchen island in front of me. "They don't smell like that at the restaurant."
"Well sure," I said. "But they have professional cooks." Deliberately, I perked up. "And besides, they're not very creative. I mean, anyone can make aregularwaffle. But aspicywaffle, that takes some imagination."
From the look on his face, his own imagination had just kicked into high gear. "Spicy?"
"You're not allergic to curry, are you?"
When his only reply was a cold stare, I added, "Or chilli powder?" When hestillsaid nothing, I gave a breezy wave of my hand. "Don't worry, I made a variety just in case."
His gaze scanned the kitchen, as if searching for the promised – Or should I say threatened? – waffles.
In the most helpful tone I could muster, I said, "I'm keeping them warm in the oven."
Just then, the light blinked on the waffle maker. I held up a finger. "Hold that thought."
"What thought?" He frowned as he made his way toward me. "I wasn't saying anything."
I smiled. "Oh. Sorry. My bad." Carefully, I lifted the lid on the waffle maker and inspected my latest creation.
When I looked up, Flynn was giving the waffle a concerned look. "What are the green things?"
"Jalapenos."
His eyebrows furrowed. "What happened to strawberry?"
"You didn't have any strawberries." I pointed to the fridge. "But I think I spotted some grapes in the crisper. Want me to give those a try?"
From the look on his face, he wasn't loving the idea of grape waffles any more thanIwas.
So, we had something in common? Go figure.
Without waiting for his reply, I grabbed the nearby tongs and extracted the jalapeno waffle from the maker. "Hey, can you grab the serving dish out of the oven?"
When he made no reply, I gave him an expectant look, as if I had no doubt that he'd do exactly as I'd asked. In reality, I knew that he was like five seconds away from telling me where I could shove the wafflesandthe maker.
