Emma is dismayed to find that they are considerably behind when they rejoin the class a few minutes later. The group is scraping pale yellow batter into silver brushed aluminum pans, while Ingrid instructs them on the merits of various pan release sprays and describes the wonder that is parchment paper. She is even further dismayed to find that The Drunk One, who goes by Will if his half-hearted attempt at a name plate is any indication, hasn't even attempted to follow along, his eyes still glued to his phone as he waves halfheartedly at the still churning mixer.
"Lots of stuff 'appened while you were two were gone," he offers innocently and Emma and Killian both send a glare in his direction.
She hurriedly shuts the mixer off, looking down at the batter, which thankfully looks just as yellow as anyone else's and is no worse for the wear with the extra mixing, the flour extremely well incorporated by this point. Killian is already moving to grab a pan from the pile of materials, holding it up in triumph at her and setting it down. He peers across the aisle to the couple at station four, a capable looking woman with short cropped black hair and a guileless expression, and her equally pleasant looking husband, who stares down at his wife fondly as she works on spraying their pan and pouring the batter into it.
It is only a very discreet and sly hand on her arm that keeps Emma from pouring the batter directly into the tin as is, and Killian motions with a jerk of his head to the canister of spray flour.
"Shit," she curses under her breath, handing Killian the bowl and sliding the pan towards her. "And now, Will , we'll spray the pan to make sure the cake comes out without sticking to it," she says loudly, looking pointedly at the man, who looks up from his phone mouth opened wide.
"What the hell you tellin' me for?" despite his protest he shoves the phone into the pocket of his jacket and reaches for the spray. He gives it a sarcastic and over dramatic shake before spraying it liberally, probably too much so, if the heap of white liquid that builds up at the bottom is any indication, finishing with a flourish and a pointed look of his own.
Emma jerks the bowl away from Killian, unceremoniously dumping the contents into the pan. He wordlessly hands her a spatula to scrape it.
"Easy lass," he murmurs into her ear as she flings the remaining batter into the pan. "We'll get through this together, just don't drench us in sponge batter, eh?" He motions to her hand, where little flecks of the pale yellow cake mixture are coating both her arm and his.
Emma visibly calms, handing him the bowl again which he deposits into the sink, and she gives the pan a firm shake while smoothing the batter with the spatula.
"That's it, love, now into the oven with it," he keeps his voice low so only she can hear, and he is so close its almost distracting, but Emma finds both the voice and proximity more than a bit soothing as she scrapes the spatula on the side of the pan, and slides it into the already pre-heated oven.
"Your friend is a useless…what's a word you would use? Git?" Emma says quietly.
"Aye, that he is," Killian agrees, wetting a rag underneath the faucet of their station's sink and carefully wiping cake batter off both her arm and his own. "Although there are a few other choice words I'd use, wanker, tosser, pillock…" he continues, releasing her arm before moving to rinse the bowl in the sink.
Will gives him a saccharine sweet smile, stepping up to the work station, rubbing his hands together.
"Now wha'?"
"Now, Will-" Ingrid appears before them, as if by magic, no doubt circling the room to make sure all cakes have made it safely into the oven. "We're going to learn how to prepare the class icing recipe and learn all about the importance of frosting consistency."
She resumes her trek around the workstations, her eyes sweeping the room.
"This same recipe will be used for the remainder of the class on all your projects, but you'll be preparing a majority of it in your own kitchens and bringing it with you when you come next time." Ingrid has made her way back to the head station, looking at everyone serenely. "You'll also prepare all the treats we'll use for future classes ahead of time, but don't worry," her eyes seem to land directly on Emma and Killian, fairly sparkling with mischief. "I'll make sure everyone has the help they need."
The class icing recipe seems to involve what appears to be a preposterous amount of confectioner's sugar, and ridiculously large quantities of fat. It almost turns Killian's stomach how much of the white greasy substance is going into the mixing bowl as he helps Emma spoon it out of a large shortening canister on the counter before them. Yet, Ingrid insists they use all of it, letting them know that they can feel free to substitute half of that fat for a different type of fat if they so choose, but the end result is the same, the icing appears to be made up of nothing but lard and powdered sugar.
Will, for his part, is mostly just making a nuisance of himself, leaning between Emma and Killian when they edge too closely together and then smiling gleefully at Killian's glare, peering into the bowl with a look of distaste but still making attempts to stick his finger in to try the concoction. He is like a small child, fiddling with the ingredients, tossing the sifter cup in the air and sprinkling bits of flour all over his hair and shoulders, shuffling the instruction cards like he is planning on playing poker with them at some point. Killian is used to his friend's erratic, and frankly, childlike behavior, but Emma looks increasingly like she could throttle him or bash him over the head with the mixer.
"Will, mate, why don't you shove off now. This doesn't seem like it's quite your thing anyway. I apologize for bringing you into it," Killian slyly suggests, looking at his friend pointedly and jerking his head towards the double doors. "I think Swan here can manage in your stead."
"And miss you trying to 'ave it off with her by poncing about learning how to make fairy cakes or whatever it is we're doing here?" Will grins, successfully getting past Emma this time to dip his finger into the mixture. He sucks on it briefly and pulls it out of his mouth with a satisfied pop. "Not bloody likely."
The look Killian gives him would cow a lesser man but Will has spent enough time with his best friend to know it's mostly bark, and dances away, putting Emma between them. He tries to reach around once more to get a finger in, but Emma's elbow in his stomach is enough deterrent and he settles for leaning on the counter instead, his chin cupped in one hand.
Ingrid is lecturing now, talking about the different uses for different consistency icings, letting them know that they'll be separating this large batch into smaller batches that will be used for different things. Thin to crumb coat their cakes or write on them, medium to ice it and to pipe, and stiff in later classes for things like roses. He's sees Will begin to grin at the word stiff, but the man is thankfully silent, merely raising an eyebrow at Killian as if to say "I could have said something mate, don't test me."
Emma is ignoring both of them, studiously and carefully following along with Ingrid's demonstration, spooning the now completed frosting into three separate bowls to be colored and thinned appropriately.
"What colors do we want?" Emma looks at the large box of gel food coloring that's been provided for them. "Up to you guys." Before Killian can answer Will steps forward, his voice deepening dramatically.
"Green, like yer eyes my darling," Will switches sides, his face mocking, his voice increasing in pitch and femininity, becoming almost breathless. "And blue like yer's my dove, they're like the ocean they are."
Emma starts at him, fist up and at the ready, but Killian's hand on her arm pulls her back as Will darts a few steps away across the aisle, covering his cowardice by pretending to be interested in the nice couple from earlier's progress rather than saving his own skin.
"Just let him be lass, he's not worth the bloodied knuckles," Killian sighs. "Trust me, I know." He turns his attention instead to the offering of colors, scratching behind his ear.
"Any preferences?" he asks and Emma shakes her head. She shrugs and closes her eyes, reaching out blindly to grab one of the tubs at random. Killian smiles at her method of color selection, closing his own eyes to do the same, selecting two from the box.
"I got pink," she holds up her tub lid so he can see the shade sticker.
"Yellow," he reads "And teal. Well it will be quite tropical, that's for sure." Emma smiles, watching Ingrid dip toothpicks into the tubs and dot the frosting with them. She hands Killian a spatula.
"Let's get to mixing mister," she glares at Will who is making a nuisance of himself by trying to snag tastes of the pixyish woman's frosting. "Will, get over here and grab a bowl."
She shoves yellow and a bowl of frosting at his chest when he approaches and he winces rubbing the place idly.
"Just dot it in there with the toothpicks, a little goes a long way, and stir until it's all mixed up and the shade you want," she paraphrases Ingrid's instructions with a stern expression. Her eyes catch Killian's and her voice is softer when she says "You too, Teal."
They are blessedly quite for a few a minutes, the entire class mixing coloring into their batches of frosting while Ingrid explains the importance of using a "no taste" red icing to achieve a rich red color without the aftertaste. Killian thinks idly that is good to know for his Christmas cakes before scoffing at his own ridiculousness, as if he ever had or ever would have Christmas cakes, busying himself by briskly stirring teal dots of coloring into the white icing.
"Excellent color choices everyone, they all look so bright and cheerful!" Ingrid is saying enthusiastically at the head of the class, but Killian does not notice, focusing instead on Emma, who is sucking idly on a toothpick that has dipped too far into her frosting. She darts her tongue out, now stained a brilliant pink, and licks her lips a few times, turning them pink as well before putting the toothpick back in.
It's terribly distracting those bright pink lips of hers, and Killian feels his arm slowing, the bowl tilting down as he stops mixing completely. It's the lack of motion that makes Emma look up, the arm with the toothpick dropping down, away from those bright pink lips. She licks them again, parting them slightly as she takes in the utterly captivated look on his face.
"If you're not careful mate you'll make a tasty treat out of your boots," Will says from behind Killian, startling them both. Killian fumbles with the bowl, almost dropping it, realizing that it was almost upside down over his footwear, but luckily the contents are stiff enough to stay put.
"Thanks, mate," he bites out through clenched teeth, sheepishly setting the bowl on the counter. Emma turns away from him, her face the same color as her lips as she continues to mix her batch.
"Oh anytime," Will says with mock seriousness. "Here we are, yellow like your golden locks, milady." Will plops the bowl onto the counter with an exaggerated flourish, clearly taking great pleasure in being as embarrassing as possible. "Like the sun they are, or something like that. What do you think, Prince Charming? Any poetry to add?" He nudges with his elbow at Killian, who bats it away forcefully.
"I think I will take great pleasure in dismembering your lifeless body, piece by piece, when this evening is over," Killian threatens, his teeth still clenched and his expression fierce.
"That's not particularly gentlemanly now issit?" Will waggles an eyebrow at him. "You'll frighten the lady."
"The lady," Emma spits out through clenched teeth of her own. "Will gladly lend him a hand."
Will is spared further threats by Ingrid clearing her throat at the front of the class, her gaze on him sharp and disapproving before turning a brilliant smile on the rest of the class.
"Okay everyone, it should be close to time for us to check on our cakes and get them cooling, so we'll open our ovens and very carefully insert a toothpick in the middle to see if it comes out clean. Like so." She removes her own cake from the oven, placing it on the counter and demonstrating for them the process of inserting the toothpick and drawing it out.
Ingrid's cake is perfect, a lovely, golden brown color and completely flat but still risen nicely to the top of her pan. She smiles serenely, inverting it over a cardboard disc, showing everyone how easily it comes out of the pan, a perfectly round circle just ready to be iced.
Killian peers down into the oven that Emma is now opening, realizing when she pulls the rack out with the oven mitts that their cake looks nothing like Ingrid's. The yellow mass in their pan is nowhere near the top, and it has sunken completely in the middle rather than climbed to the top. Will opens his mouth to comment on the obvious baking failure but Killian steps back, digging his heel into the top of Will's foot before he can say a word, and Will falls silent after a startled yelp of pain.
"What the hell happened?" Emma hisses, slamming the oven door closed with her hip as she plops the cake pan onto the counter. Killian moves his body in front of it, blocking it from view. "Just a few more minutes I think," she says loudly for the benefit of those who turn to stare at the noise, she lowers her voice to a hiss for Killian. "What are we going to do?"
"We must have forgotten something," Killian grabs the stack of instruction cards, flicking to the cake recipe. "We creamed the eggs, butter and sugar, we added the sifted flour, the salt, the-" he looks up at her, eyes widening. "I think we forgot the baking power love."
"Shit, shit, shit," Emma looks at the cake, willing it with her mind to take shape again and puff up to normal cake proportions. "I'm guessing baking powder is important?" She whispers sarcastically.
"It's a leavenin' agent," Will provides helpfully, peering over their shoulders at the mess, and Emma raises her foot as if to step on his other one. He backs away, hands up. "Just tryin to help."
"It's okay Swan, just give us a minute to think," Killian says. His hand once again goes to rest on her arm, rubbing up and down a few times reassuringly. It does help her feel a bit more calm, the action soothing, and he seems confident they can figure out a plausible solution. She takes a deep steadying breath.
At least it keeps her calm until she gets a look at the other cakes that are coming out of ovens all around the class. One by one perfectly circular, golden brown discs are deposited to cool on cardboard cake rounds, not a single bad cake in the bunch. Not one with a sunken middle, or puffy, cracked top, just lovely perfectly flat cakes, exactly the right height and color. She feels her chest tighten with anxiety.
"How is it going to look if the only shitty cake in this whole class is the one being supervised by the fucking instructor's assistant?" Emma whispers to him, eyes widening again as the panic creeps back into her chest. She sees something flash across his face, and he smiles at her.
"No worries Swan, I have a plan."
Before Emma can say anything, or even move, he is reaching forward and grabbing the cake pan, lifting it off the counter top. He hisses in pain as the still burning metal touches his skin, but he hangs on long enough to get it away from her before dropping it to the floor. It falls in slow motion, end over end, Killian drawing his injured hand to his chest as the cake smashes to the floor. He gives it a kick for good measure so it is nothing but a pile of unidentifiable crumbs, but Emma doesn't notice it at all, her focus instead on his now pink, and rapidly blistering hand.
"Jesus Christ, are you okay?" she reaches forward, grabbing his wrist, prying his hand away from where it is cradled to his chest. She is careful, turning it by his wrist to see the extent of the damage.
"Brilliant move mate, that's how you win ladies over, show 'em feats of strength and resilience," Will is saying unsympathetically, "You ruined me dessert." He points to the mess on the floor.
Emma glares at him briefly before turning to look at Killian. It's obvious he is in some amount of pain, his face mostly just a grimace, but he is smiling at her through clenched teeth.
"Not to worry love, just a foolish mistake on my part," he hisses when her finger brushes close to the affected area.
"What happened here?" Ingrid's breathless voice is at Emma's side. "Oh no, are you okay Killian?" She lays a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I forgot about the temperature and grabbed the pan," Killian looks down at his hand sheepishly. "But please, its fine, I shall recover, it wasn't too bad."
Ingrid looks at the hand skeptically, but her eyes are sparkling with opportunity.
"Emma, sweetheart, there is a first aid kit on the wall in that office just outside, in the hallway, can you take Killian there and get him all patched up?" she looks pointedly at her foster daughter. "Take good care of him, won't you?"
Emma gives her a quick glare, but it turns quickly back to concern when she looks at Killian's hand.
"Yeah, come on," she puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'm actually pretty decent at first aid."
"Getting the ole' nursemaid routine, you clever dog," Will murmurs and Killian makes it a point to step on his foot again on the way out.
"Why the hell did you do that?" Emma whirls on him the minute they are in the small office, shoving him into a chair with a hand on his chest. "Hold on." She goes to the wall, taking down the metal first aid kit and slamming it on the wooden desk next to his seat.
"Apologies lass, I didn't actually intend to burn myself," Killian's cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I truly did forget the pan was hot, I only meant to drop it on the floor in a fit of clumsiness." Killian uses his good hand to rub the back of his head. "Which turned out to a fairly realistic performance. I'm a method actor it seems."
"You're an idiot," Emma rolls her eyes, but her tone is less angry now and closer to fond exasperation, which Killian much prefers. He gives her a sheepish smile.
"Aye, that I am," he focuses on her hands, small and delicate, gently taking up his wrist to inspect the damage. "I only meant to help, Swan." He says to them softly. Emma looks at him over his hand, swallowing.
"Well you did, help that is, we don't have to worry about anyone seeing that cake, that's for sure," she scoffs. "And, as a bonus we can kill some of the time in here patching you up." She steps in between his legs, flipping the latch open on the first aid kit.
"By all means, take your time darling," Killian's voice is still soft, but for a completely different reason now. His tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyebrow raised. Emma swallows again, but focuses on the task at hand, removing burn cream, and bandages from the metal box.
"You're not going to sue are you?" she asks after a moment, ripping open the packet of the cream. "I think Ingrid has insurance for this kind of thing but I'd prefer if you didn't take this to court."
"I swear I won't involve any part of the legal system in this incident, Swan," he smiles. "I am not, in any way, litigious."
"Thank god for that," Emma gently spreads the substance on the burn, blowing slightly on the blistered flesh. The cool air moves across his palm, soothing it instantly, and despite the lingering sting Killian shifts in his seat from a different sensation altogether, his knees brushing the sides of her thighs with the movement. Emma falters for a second, sucking in a breath of her own.
"You probably won't be able to use the hand for a bit," she says after a moment. "You got it pretty good."
"Perhaps I could persuade you to continue your "nurse maiding" then? Lend a helping hand as it were?" He grins at her, giving her that same charged look from earlier, his tongue pressed into his cheek. Emma rolls her eyes, tossing the empty packet behind her into the trash and reaching for the roll of bandage.
"Please, it's not even your dominate hand, I think you can manage, plus you have Will," she points out. Killian scoffs.
"That berk? Fat lot of help he would be," he looks at her, as if to remind her of Will's previous behavior, and Emma smiles, nodding.
"I can see how he would be less than useful," she slowly winds the cotton bandage around his palm, gently moving the limb as she does so, shifting closer to him with every turn.
"I do appreciate your….attentions, love," he says softly, leaning his head closer as if to inspect her work before peering up at her through a fringe of soft black hair. Emma is struck for a moment by his expression, by how close they've become in the small space, by how blue his eyes are, and she pauses for a moment with the bandaging. There is no sound in the room save for their quiet breathing and the ticking of the clock on the wall, and Emma leans slightly closer.
There is a noise from somewhere, an AC compressor kicking on, and she startles, nearly dropping the bandages. Emma gives her head a shake, clearing her throat awkwardly.
"No problem, like I said I'm good at first aid," she reaches for a roll of tape and some small angled scissors.
"Are you some kind of emergency worker?" he asks looking her up and down as if trying to determine her profession through the tacky orange apron. "Or are you actually a nurse?" Emma laughs, cutting off a few pieces of medical tape.
"Neither, I work in bail bonds. I'm a recovery agent. It's a rough gig chasing down lowlifes. Sometimes I need to patch myself up," she carefully applies the tape to the bandages ends to secure them in place and looks up to see -Killian staring at her with what can only be termed slack-jawed fascination.
"That's amazing," he says after a moment, collecting himself and tearing his gaze away from her face to look at her handiwork. "And if you ever tire of that profession, I'd say you have a fair shot at making a go of it in nursing." He smiles easily, one of his genuine ones, with the dimples and everything, and Emma practically gulps, taking a step backward out of his space, wiping her hands nervously on her jeans.
"Well…yeah," she shrugs. "I have no idea if I did that right. I don't usually get burned so it could be the wrong way to handle it," she shrugs again. "But hopefully you should be good as new."
Killian flexes his hand, the burn cream already helping to take the sting away. He stands, close enough in the small office where she can feel the heat of him and smell the leather of his jacket and she looks up, her breath catching again at the expression in his eyes.
"Right you are Swan, brilliant work," he smiles again, that same genuine smile that takes her off guard, and he reaches up with his good hand to brush away a tendril of hair that has escaped from the confines of her ponytail. "I think I'm up for more cake decorating deception if you are? What do you say? Ready to see if we can continue to keep up this charade? Hopefully, without further injury to my person."
Emma steps away, having trouble breathing with him so close, and she takes in another shuddering breath to steady her slightly elevated pulse. This guy is trouble with a capital T, charming, handsome, and heroically clumsy, and she feels like she should probably stay far, far, away but she finds herself smiling at the floor instead, kicking her toe into the tile before answering.
"Yeah, let's go pipe some stupid flowers."
