Disclaimer: The characters and their world belong to Janet Evanovich. I'm just playing with them for fun, and all mistakes are my own.
AN: I had this idea a few days ago while I was writing the second chapter of Five Easy Steps to Happily Ever After. Thanks to the guest reviewer whose encouragement made me decide to post this after all and for the idea to have the flan be just a little cracked. That is so Steph.
SPOV
OK, I can do this, I thought as I took the eggs and cream out of the refrigerator. I'd studied the recipe and I'd made it just fine when I'd practiced with Ella the day before. It was my boyfriend's birthday and I was going to make this damn flan.
Yeah, I know, I'm being a little over dramatic, but I am Stephanie Plum, formerly the bombshell bounty hunter. I almost burned down the Home EC classroom in high school, and I've never had a car I didn't destroy. Disaster follows me and I've never made anything that didn't have the word instant written on the box. Yadda, Yadda, Yadda.
But my past doesn't define me and I wanted to surprise Carlos. Taking a deep breath, I spread the caramel sauce on the bottom of the pie plate. This was the hardest part, so I'd made extra with Ella. It was cheating, maybe, but I prefer to think of it as taking advantage of available opportunities. The eggs, cream, and sweetened condensed milk went into a bowl and I beat them together. I might have put in too much vanilla extract, but you can never have too much of that, right? OK. The oven was preheated, and the custardy stuff was in the pie dish. What was I forgetting?
Right. The same thing I forgot the last time I tried this on my own and why I ended up with a big charcoal briquette. I added some hot water to the large pan Ella had given me and placed the pie dish in the middle of the water bath. I set the timer and crossed my fingers.
An hour later, I pulled a dish of creamy goodness from the oven. It was a little cracked in the middle, but smelled so good I had to stop myself from stealing a slice. An hour after that, I was showered, shaved, buffed, and had just zipped myself into a little nothing of a red dress that always drove Carlos crazy, when I heard the front door open.
I met him in the living room. Carlos Mañoso was six feet of Cuban sex god wrapped in fine Italian tailoring and he was looking at me like I was a present he couldn't wait to unwrap. Since those were exactly my plans for the evening, I wasn't about to complain. But first things first.
Before he could reach me, I grabbed the flan off the breakfast bar held it out to him. "Happy Birthday, Carlos," I purred.
His lips spread into a full, two-hundred watt panty-melting grin. "Babe." He carefully took the flan from me and then threw me over his shoulder.
"The flan!" I shrieked as we headed toward the bedroom.
"Got it right here, Babe," he growled as he set me down in the middle of our bed. "Looks great and I know exactly how I want to eat it," he said with a wolf grin as he spread a finger full of creamy custard over my collar bone.
Oh, boy. "Well, it is your birthday," I moaned as he laid me back against the pillows.
I'd finally figured out how to get him to eat dessert and trust me, I had no complaints.