3. Arlene

THREE

Arlene

“ H ey, babe, you sure you’re okay?”

Well, definitely not if he asked like that.

There was no reason for concern, though. It was all under control. I was just a messy baker, but Dylan knew this already. Still, I forced myself to take a break from pouring the cheesecake into the molds and turned to look at him.

He’d agreed to leave us the townhouse for the evening—me and Claude, who would be here in about an hour, and no, I wasn’t freaking out about it. It was all fine , and perfectly under control. Sure, I was not doing well on time, because I should’ve popped these into the oven for the batter to bake twenty minutes ago.

It was fine.

I’d just let my perfectionism take charge.

Dylan—since he was the one who ended up suffering through my baking experiments the most—joked that I was great at flavors, but not presentation.

He was right.

“I’m fine.” I just needed a towel.

I knew I was overthinking this too much. Claude would not care if something didn’t look absolutely perfect. They never were that kind of YouTuber that was all about appearances.

But… Shit, call me shallow, but I wanted to impress them. First impressions, and all that.

Sure, this was technically the second impression—and I was still trying to figure out why they didn’t run for the hills after the first one—but…

But. It would be the first time they saw my baking. It counted.

“You don’t sound fine.”

Was he not leaving?

I sighed.

No, I’d told myself eons ago that I did not lash out at people.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Dylan had his head tilted to the side as he watched me from one of the stools by the kitchen island. He always managed to look like a lost puppy.

“Just stressed. It’s fi—it’s whatever. It’ll all work out.”

I wasn’t completely happy with how the cake was going to set, but… At least I got the right proportion of honey for the base. I’d messed that up before.

And I remembered to taste test, so I knew it would be good—unless the oven decided to play tricks on me.

It would be just my luck.

“You’ll be okay, love. And you can text or call me if shit goes wrong, or if I need to fake an emergency.”

Dylan was a terrible liar on the spot. I had a better chance getting my father to help with that, and he was the brooding type.

“Yeah.” I shrugged before I watched him more carefully. He’d said he was going to his boyfriend’s, but… “You’ll do the same, yeah? If you need to head back here, you tell me.”

Dylan, predictably, scoffed. “I’m not gonna ruin your date, excuse you.”

“You one hundred percent will if it comes to that.”

No, I wasn’t the biggest fan of his boyfriend. I didn’t think anyone who’d met him was, really. More and more recently, neither was Dylan, but I didn’t think he’d reached the point where he could say it yet.

I sighed.

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes.

“Please?”

“ Fine .” For a second, I thought he’d storm out, but he changed his mind last minute and came around the island. “And you won’t even need to reach out because they’re going to love whatever it is you’re baking, and you’re going to have the sapphic time of your life.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up!” I shrieked.

Sure, I wasn’t a nun. I’d thought about it. But I was also trying very hard not to go there. It was hard enough not to implode as it was.

Claude just liked sweets, and they wanted to try my cheesecake bars. They’d tell me about the video that ended their career if they were more in the mood today, and that was it. Just because my stomach got all fluttery didn’t mean anything was going to happen. I was just a messy, hormonal woman. That was it.

Nothing to see.

“Sure, babe.” Dylan all but pounced to manage a kiss on my cheek. There was no way he wasn’t a puppy, but he’d never confirmed it. Or denied it, for that matter. “Have fun!”

I’d have… something.

Claude

Just left work

Fucking finally

I’ll be there in thirty?

Arlene

Sure!

My roommate is just leaving, so perfect timing

Claude

Great

fyi I’m starving

What was wrong with me? I might not have lots of dating experience, but I was pretty certain that someone saying they were starving was not a reason to get all fluttery.

I was not going to make it until the end of the day. That much was clear.

And there was no way I’d have everything done in time, either.

I needed to take a minute, too. I knew what happened when I pressed myself too hard. I recognized the way my vision was starting to blur at the edges, too, and I’d rather not have to open the door to Claude while in the middle of an anxiety attack.

It was fine.

It was fine.

I just had to repeat it in my head until the words stuck.

I really, really hated the way my brain worked sometimes. When I wasn’t frozen in time struggling with one thing, it was something else. No time for a breather, ever.

I ’d just taken the bars out of the oven when the doorbell rang.

Shit.

Well, I’d counted on it. It wasn’t as if there was a way to speed up the oven, and Claude had mentioned they worked not that far from Randy’s when we were texting to set this up.

So I’d known it wouldn’t take them long.

I still opened the door in a rush, words fumbling out of my mouth. “Hi. Hi! I’m really sorry, I’m so behind, and I still have to let the bars chill in the fridge, but I?—”

“Hey, it’s fine.”

I didn’t usually like when people cut me off—even if they were doing it because I was on the verge of a panic attack.

It turned out I didn’t hate it when it came from the most collected person to have ever put a foot inside this house.

“Is it?” I squeaked. “I mean, yeah, but I swear I’m better with… time management.”

“It’s fine,” Claude repeated. Their lips tilted upwards, a glint in their blue eyes making me stand straighter. “Cute apron.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

I’d say I couldn’t look down, but it would be too late.

No, I hadn’t taken off the apron Dylan got for the two of us at one of the geeky conventions he used to go to.

Objectively, it could be worse. The apron just had an image of an infamous Marvel anti-hero in a compromising pose with flour and frosting all over.

My brain could not process objectivity right this minute, though.

“I’ll pop the tray in the fridge, and then I’ll change.” I was moving as I spoke, my brain whirring with all the words I needed to say and no time to put them in order. “I know it’s rude to leave you here, it’s only one second. I really miscalculated today. I’m really sorry. I have brownies too if you want to eat something while we wait. Oh, and drinks, of course. Whatever you want.”

Claude just… watched as I rambled.

It was eerie.

“Who are you and what have you done to the Arlene I met, what, two days ago?”

Damn.

“Sorry.” How many times had I apologized today? I tried to laugh, but the sound was weak. “I’m… I don’t usually host. I get anxious.”

“Sounds like the understatement of the year.” There was something about the contrast between their words and their soft smile that both drew me in and pushed me away. I didn’t know which direction to go. “Pop the thing in the fridge, go change into whatever you’re most comfortable with, and we’ll start again, okay?”

The relief I felt was palpable. I didn’t care.

“Thanks.” I swallowed, the knot in my throat becoming bigger now that I didn’t have to fight my way through an apology I didn’t have time to rehearse first. “And I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sure I’ll have forgotten all about this once I try your stuff.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I didn’t say that out loud. I just smiled—tried to—and started moving.

Bars in the fridge? Check. Then I just had to take off the not-so-funny-now apron and scurry upstairs to my room. I’d been working from home today, and my idea had been to change after the food was cooling in the fridge to avoid any problems.

I could be clumsy. I was very aware of it. And I was not the best at thinking on my feet—as evidenced by the fact that while running out of time, I completely forgot to change.

At least I had thought far ahead, and the clothes I’d planned to wear were splayed out on my—perfectly made—bed.

I didn’t stop to wonder if I should go with a different choice of outfit. It was too late, I was sweating, and the last thing I needed was to spend so long here that Claude left. Or maybe they wouldn’t leave, but it would be ten times more awkward when I finally went back downstairs.

No way I was risking it.

Okay, clothes were taken care of. I didn’t stop to check myself out in the mirror. I’d done enough of that last night, and I was on a time crunch here.

I’d felt cute in it last night, and that would have to do. It was just an oversized hoodie and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. Strangely enough, I liked my—admittedly—gnarly legs, and temperatures hadn’t dropped too much yet. Plus, with all the baking, the kitchen and living room felt much warmer.

Claude was sitting on the same stool Dylan had been pestering me from. They were scrolling on their phone, but they didn’t look bothered or tired of waiting, or like they were going to make an excuse and leave.

I’d take it.

They didn’t notice my thudding down the stairs either, though.

“Hey.” I cleared my throat. I always felt self-conscious doing that. “Sorry about… that, earlier.”

“No problem.” As they spoke, they locked the screen on their phone and dropped it on the table. I did my best to ignore the way they seemed to check me out. Surely, that was just the nerves. “I kind of feel bad that I put you through all this.”

They glanced at the messy counters in the kitchen.

I blushed.

As clumsy as I could be, I was usually more organized.

“It looks worse than it is.”

Kind of.

“I can help.”

“You really don’t have to?—”

Claude cut me off, again. “I’m offering, aren’t I?”

Yeah, I supposed they were. I was not used to being around people who weren’t Dylan, or Dylan’s friends. Well, or clients, but I didn’t invite those home. I certainly didn’t bake for them—even though something told me my father would love that idea.

The amount of ass kissing and hand holding being a financial advisor required was something no professor had warned me about.

I shook those thoughts off, though. My job might not be ideal, but I had to look at the bright side of things. Working for my father meant I made enough to live in this house, and I had a budget where I could bake as much as my heart desired.

So, it was fine. I was doing much better than most, and I was painfully aware of that reality at times.

I just had to remain positive, and sit down, and breathe. The bars might not look perfect, but they were going to taste great, and Claude didn’t look upset because they had to wait.

“So did you want anything to drink?”

Heat rose to my cheeks, but I couldn’t remember if I’d asked them already—or if they’d answered. Maybe I should finally listen to the podcasts I played on my way to work and take up meditation or something like that.

Yoga?

That could work. I’d never been too flexible, but people said it was relaxing.

“Just water is good,” Claude distracted me.

It was a good thing they did. I could get lost inside my head and start making a million plans.

“Sure.”

I was going to grab just one bottle but realized two was the safer option. Having something to do with my hands would potentially help me not to look so awkward, right?

My heartbeat started to slow down once I was sat down. My mother used to joke that I only started to listen when I was resting my butt. It had made me uncomfortable back then, but maybe there was some truth behind the teasing.

Anyway.

“So…” Claude bit their lip while tilting their head to the side. “How long are we waiting?”

“Oh, about… twenty minutes?” I was ninety-nine percent sure twenty minutes would be enough, at least. “Full disclosure, I’m really not good at plating.”

“What do you mean?”

I chuckled nervously. Sure, I was calmer, and I could appreciate the fresh forest green dye in Claude’s hair, and the oversized button down and how their striped pants made their legs look longer. That didn’t mean I suddenly got all my shit together.

…There was no way on Earth they were coming back here, even if I managed to blow their mind with my baking skills.

“You know in those baking shows, how there’s someone that says they’re all about the flavors, but they hate the flashy, pretty stuff?” I ran a hand through my hair. I should’ve tied it up or something, but I always felt like my head looked too big when it was pulled back. It brought too much attention to my brow bone, I think. I could deal with it most of the time, but not when I was already feeling self-conscious. “I’m kind of like that. Well, I don’t hate it. I just don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”

“Got it.” Claude chuckled. “And that’s totally fine.”

How many times had they reassured me since they walked in, again?

This was an absolute mess.

“Yeah, well, didn’t want you to set your expectations too high.”

Fuck me .

“I’m just happy to have something baked that doesn’t come from a plastic wrapper,” Claude said. Their eyes were twinkling. The blue popped out more with the new hair color. “You can relax, I swear.”

“You never bake?”

I was pretty certain that I’d seen videos of them and Ben attempting to bake stuff they’d seen on TV. Saying that would probably make me sound like more of a stalker than I was comfortable with, though.

I hadn’t even seen their videos in years, anyway. I just had a good memory.

“Nah.” Claude shook their head. “I tried a few times, but I’m a disaster in the kitchen. Most of my fridge is precooked meals.”

I shuddered.

Then again… “I could teach you. If you want.”

I didn’t know if I was salvaging today’s disaster or making it ten times worse. I supposed that would be a problem for future me.

“Sure. I personally think I’m a lost cause, but yeah. It could be fun.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what was going on anymore, but I might as well go with it.

“So tell me something I don’t know about you.” Claude leaned forward. I was toast. “I mean, you follow YouTubers, you’re at least curious about kink, you work in finance, and you bake and donate food to food banks.”

I squealed. It seemed I wasn’t the only one with a good memory. “Do I need more things?”

Unless we started discussing our childhoods? I didn’t know that there was a lot more to talk about when it came to my life. I’d kept things fairly simple—until recently, maybe. That excursion into the munch might’ve been aiming too high.

“Those are all very generic.” Claude shrugged. “And I’m a curious person.”

“Are you?” Yeah, I squealed again. “I mean, yeah, I know that.” They’d had that in their bio, I was sure of it. “But uh, you know more about me than I do you.”

Was that smooth? Not remotely. Did it get me out of the spotlight? That’s what I was hoping for.

“What do you wanna know?”

Or not.

Claude took a swig of water while I tried to look like I wasn’t the mess that I was. I might’ve had a chance if the act wasn’t so distracting.

I really needed a grip. It was only getting worse lately.

Was I going to end up caving and letting Dylan drag me to a club sometime?

Ugh.

The mere thought of clubbing had me shuddering for a different reason altogether, but it would be nice to not be in horny mode twenty-four-seven.

“I…” Yeah, I should’ve thought this one better. The only things that came to mind were definitely too personal. Well, I guessed the deal was that I fed them desserts, and they told me about the viral video that had destroyed their career. The timing didn’t feel right to tackle that one, though. “What do you do, other than working extra hours at a PR firm, and dyeing your hair?”

Claude had begun tilting their head to the side before they were laughing.

“Well played.” They winked. “But I’m really not that interesting. I hang out at Randy’s with a bunch of the regulars there, and I FaceTime with Ben and Julian a lot.”

“There has to be something more than that.”

I wasn’t trying to play games when I said it.

“Sadly, not really. Living vicariously through others is more fun.”

It was safer, too. They didn’t say it, but there was no need. I’d been there, too.

“Sure. So is it true that Ben tried to adopt a fox?”

Claude groaned. “Don’t get me started.”

Their eyes twinkled with mischief, though.

I relaxed against the back of the stool. The tension had left their shoulders right away.

I’d managed that, so maybe I could manage to salvage this whole mess, too.