Page 64 of Theirs for the Holidays

“Yeah? Why not?”

“Because even I know croissants take hours to make properly,” Rhett says. “We need to do something reasonable.”

“Like?”

“Like… a tart or something, I don’t know.”

“We could do a tart,” I jump in. “Croissants are fun, but Rhett’s right. We’d be here until tomorrow morning laminating dough. Actually… I have an idea.”

Sawyer grins at me. “Let’s hear it then, teach.”

I stick my tongue out at him, smiling when he mirrors the gesture. “Okay, so it’s not quite a tart, but we could do fruit scones. It doesn’t take as long as croissants, but then we can have them in the morning for breakfast with some jam I picked up the other day.”

I expect a little push back on that, but the guys agree without much debate. Even their bickering seems to have lost some of the sharp edges it had when they first got here. More like theycan’t help but banter and challenge each other, less like they’re trying to go for the throat at every turn.

It makes me smile to see them like this because it reminds me of how it used to be. It’s a comfortable atmosphere, and I’m in a good mood as I start grabbing the things we’ll need.

“Rhett, can you get the flour from that cabinet there?” I ask, pointing. Rhett hefts the large container of flour I keep stocked at all times. “What fruit do you guys think? I’ve got blueberries, some oranges, some cranberries…”

“Isn’t orange cranberry a thing?” Lennox asks. “That sounds appropriately festive for the season.”

“Good answer,” I say. “That leads me to a good point, too. Seasonality.” I launch into a spiel about when baking with fruits, it’s a good idea to keep the season in mind because bad fruit makes a bad pastry. “You can use frozen stuff, of course,” I tell them. “But it’s nice to get fresh when you can.”

They all nod, like they’re taking this seriously, and it’s weird, having these three intelligent, successful men looking to me for guidance. But this is my element, and I thrive in it, so I keep going, pulling butter out of the freezer.

“Why is the butter frozen?” Rhett wants to know. “I thought you usually used room temp butter for baking.”

“For some things, definitely. But scones are kind of like biscuits, where a lot of the flakiness and lift comes from butter melting. So you want it to be as cold as possible before it goes in the oven.” I explain that pie crusts are the same way and that’s why it’s so flaky and golden if done right. “We’d do the same kind of thing for a tart crust.”

I take them through the basics, showing them how to measure dry ingredients. “Never scoop your measuring cup directly into the flour. It can get packed down and you’ll end up using double as much as you think you should. It’s best to weigh it. We want 250 grams of flour for this.”

I squint at the scale, dumping flour in until it reads 224, and then add a tiny handful more. The scale ticks to exactly 250.

“Impressive,” Sawyer says, grinning. “You’ve got the touch.”

“I just do this a lot. Can you add the rest of the dry ingredients?”

They add salt, sugar, and baking powder to the bowl, and then I show Rhett the best way to zest an orange. The kitchen fills with the scent of citrus oils, bright and sweet, and that gets added to the bowl too.

“I didn’t know Rhett could do delicate shit like that,” Sawyer teases. “I thought he was all burly mountain man these days.”

“It’s zesting an orange, not brain surgery,” Rhett mutters back, but he doesn’t seem annoyed. There’s still a relaxed, easy atmosphere. He throws the orange at Sawyer, who catches it with one hand and a shit eating grin.

“Don’t manhandle the ingredients,” Lennox says.

“Don’t manhandle the ingredients,” both Sawyer and Rhett mimic back in unison.

I can’t help but laugh. “Lennox is right,” I say. “We need the juice from that orange for the glaze.”

“So there,” Lennox says, flicking flour that spilled on the counter at his brothers. I laugh again, and he flicks some at me for good measure.

“Hey!” I protest. “I’m on your side here.”

“All’s fair in baking and war,” he replies calmly.

We move onto grating the frozen butter into the bowl, and the guys take turns doing it while I instruct them. It saves my hands, since I always manage to grate my knuckles at least once.

“I should hire you guys after this lesson,” I tell them. “It’s nice having other people do the hard work sometimes.” I measure out heavy cream and cranberries while the guys toss the butter and dry mix together.