The worst thing since Cake-mix

It's been a day since he met Sheila properly at the store before Al's party, stopped off for ice and whatever else, he'd not been expecting the figure she cut. A strappy bodycon dress, hair up in a shapely if haphazard way, and no excess of make-up given every other party he'd seen her at, looking over the cake mixes, which seemed odd to him as given the most recent gossip she wasn't seeing anyone.

Moreover, she'd broken up with the guy she had been with over a month ago, so he wasn't sure why she'd be buying cake while looking that put together.

He remembers trying to be smooth, or at least helpful, no one knows how to make cake right like he did, which is why he ended up making an ass of himself an hour before the party was on.

He kinda knew to expect her at the party, but he hadn't been expecting her to make contact after that. At that point his memory is a bit clearer, as she'd admitted to not knowing him from Jobe, even if he was half off on someone else's edibles before she'd even walked up.

In any case, he'd been given a task and her number and box-mix to read, now he was in her kitchen.

"So, you really don't own a mixer?" he said upon rummaging her cabinets, finding mostly salad appropriate mixing bowls, and almost nothing even implying the loss of a basic handheld. "not even one of those stupid baby-cranks?" That was what they were, handheld and only fun if your sous chef was about three.

Or at least that was the last time he'd found them fun.

"Well, I'd just be embarrassed if you called it that." said Sheila, the adult woman who'd avoided that particular near universal housewarming gift.

"It's perfectly fine, hand-mixed is always an option. Heck it's even preferred when you're working with lighter cakes."

"Then why the whole pro-laziness argument?"

"Preferred in the baking world holds little traction against convenience."

"You go sliced breadman!"

"Now get over here, we’re gonna be snorting your ingredients!”

“Is that the way to put it?”

“Of course it is! It's the only way to make sure these things won’t act weird in the mix.” He said leading Sheila past her own fridge for the preliminary smell test, he’d be doing this even if he were doing this sort of thing in his own kitchen, but given that he was in someone else's, he had the added joy of testing his methods against someone else's senses. Popping the lid off the sourcream container, “Smell this.”

“Onions.”

He looked into the container, apparently repurposed with dried onion to make a very basic dip. “Well, beneath that. You smell that?”

“The milk?”

“Well, mostly the fat and sour of it. Fermented milks don’t smell sweet anymore, they smell kinda sour, but clean.” he described, that's usually the terms he could put it in that made sense.

“Well, that’s certainly a thing I guess.”

He looked down at the onion dip, wondering if it really was that bad a description, “It is, though I’m getting the sense that you can’t really smell it.”

“Not really, my sense of smell is usually alright, it’s just that milks and meats kinda have sweat to them.”

He fiddled with the word a bit, “A sweat?”

“Yeah, like, even if the meat is fine and is like super-fresh it’s a bit sweaty.”

“Do you mind that?” was his first real thought, given that she obviously drinks milk at least even if it's 'sweat-like'.

“No. It’s just what things smell like. Milk also goes sweet just before it goes flat and then bad.”

“So, does this still smell right?”

“Yeah.” she took a finger around the lid, “but it’s also onion dip. I’m not certain I’d want to put it in a cake.” She licked that little bit off her finger, which huh.

“You’d be surprised at what works in a cake.” he said, like he'd actually tried that on purpose.

"I don't trust that."

"You ever have sauerkraut cake?", he asked, she probably hadn't that she knew of, but if she did it would serve as some direction.

"No. Why would I do that to myself?"

"Cause vinegar in all its forms is a friend."

"Yeah, but it's sauerkraut. Ain't that just German Kimchi?" That isn't how he thinks about sauerkraut, but honestly.

"I've never tried that! I should do that one of these days." he couldn't help saying, there were a lot of ingredients in addition to salted and soured cabbage in Kimchi, but the flavor could be covered for by a balance towards its spice. The thought was tempting but it was off topic."Do you have any chips?"

"I'm surprised you found the dip, but yeah." she said leaving the main space of her kitchen to find wherever she keeps her snacks. That wasn't actually what he was getting at, but it gave him a chance to regroup. Sheila has a fairly good sense of smell, so that's not a gap, but he still hasn't got much of a clue as to the best methods here.

He went about collecting the main items from her cupboards, the bowls were all set on the above shelving, so fetching that wasn't even a handful, while the measuring cups were left haphazard in a drawer.

The kettle was a stovetop type, rather than electric, but it was really the same difference for any recipe. The counters for their part offered little space to work, but he wasn't the type to waste monkey-cups so it was fine.

Sheila came back with a bag of potato chips and a look at her coffee maker, "so, do you want any of that?"

"What, do you want a zappy cake?"

"Yeah, why not? It's a practice run anyway."

"Well, that's acceptable."

He went about rinsing her coffee pot and filter-cradle? Is that what that is? Since he was closer, and she opened the chips since everything apparently goes with coffee. "So how many scoops do you use?" he asked before she just handed him the bag and did it herself. Rude.

He took a chip and ate it like a good little boy apparently.

"So, what do you think about the cake mix I picked?" she asked while the maker chugged like the smallest skyward train that could.

"It's fine. It's on the low end per-ounce though" he said, having read the back of it. The proportions on these things shift with the economy which was gross since its not like the pan sizes changed with it.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'd probably add leavening too, since the age out on that is rather notorious. Though the pan size wouldn't be wrong in that case." he said, making note that the addition would add to its fluffiness.

"Oh."

"On that, does your oven run hot or cold?"

"It's an oven."

"Yeah, but sometimes the thermometer is cruddy so you got to test it. Unless you only roast on low or something."

"I'm making you coffee, and you're eating my chips. You can't make fun of me."

"I'm your love-horse, I can do what I want." he pointed out with a chip, "You really just cook meat in the least oven sensitive method don't you?" he crunched down.

"I eat good meat, what of it?"

"Well most baking is faster than that, even bread prefers a hot enough oven. But that's why we preheat and watch."

"Alright."

"It's like the third thing about baking."

"Alright."

They stayed quiet while the coffee maker snapped off, he handed back the chips to fetch out both his own cup and one for Sheila, she wasn't a short woman but her kitchen was made for a much taller person and it showed.

"Thanks."

"Welcome."

She went to her fridge for her half and half, "should I just leave this out for the wet half?" she asked.

"Oh right, yeah. You should also fetch the eggs if we're snacking right now."

"Ah, good." She found her carton as well, while he set a bowl of warm water to test and to just get them mix-ready. "How often do you make cake?"

"Almost every time I get invited to something."

"That fits."

At that point he frowned a bit, "We've been to ten parties together at this point. I still don't know how you didn't know me til now."

"I don't know a lot of people I see at these things. It's nothing personal." Sheila pointed out, "Honestly, I'm not really one for parties."

"That ain't true, you're pretty much the only person who doesn't serve half-off potato salad."

"Not mixing these things a month in advance isn't part-parcel to enjoying a party. Besides, I don't do it every time I'm invited to these things."

"Well you haven't lately, but you only broke it off like a month ago."

"Yeah, a month ago." Sheila pointed out, like it's such a long time to be a bit dull about a situation.

"It's okay to take your time, you know."

"Not if it didn't matter." Sheila pointed out, her mug on the counter. She wasn't holding it, maybe for a while.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Do you know how people treat ya if you aren't trying for these things?" she asked in that sharp way that would've been a mess otherwise, "I keep trying, it's what you're supposed to do. I take my friend's suggestions 'cause they know me best right? I go out with guys, or whatever, but then I don't like them and it doesn't matter 'cause I'm supposed to want these things."

"All they see my break up as is a chance to set me up with another guy who's going to insist later that I, with my utter disinterest, was somehow the best they'd ever had."

"Have you ever, I don't know, tried to explain?"

"That's the funny thing, I have. You know what they say?" She asked rhetorically, "You shouldn't fear rejection with a face like that. With a body like that. Like the worst part, the only part is that other person's appraisal. Like I can't just not want it and also be a person."

She went to pick up her cup again, drinking more than a swig, and sighing.

"Is it men, or just?"

"I'm not gay, or bi, or whatever. If the issue was that they'd have caught on, they'd probably have even accepted it at my say so. Gotta love somebody ya know? But nobody really has room in their heads for it."

"So your Ace?"

"Kinda? Honestly, I think I'm just worn out trying. I think I only date to upkeep my platonic relationships at this point." she said, drinking more of her coffee. Looking down she asked, "where'd the chips go?"

To wit he tossed her the bag, "Here, I'd rather have cake."

"I'm gonna gain thirty pounds with you aren't I?"

"You worried about rejection?"

"No."