Eve loves freshly baked treats.
She loves the sugared smell of vanilla extract. She loves the way the heat pools out of the oven like the opening act of a show, unveiling her belly's freshly baked desires. She loves the way the buttery slug of icing oozes from the jaws of the piping bag, she loves the art you can make with it. She loves the taste, the flare of sweetness that ripples across her tastebuds with every bite, the textures, the flavours, everything right down to the crumble. She loves it all, in fact, the only thing that could make her love it any more would be some well-nurtured talent in its regard, with or without a cookbook, because Eve couldn't bake to save her life.
She's scorched enough cookies to brittle to know she has no business operating an oven and burned enough cakes to feed the population of Southeast London, yet every time her cravings get the best of her, she finds herself back in the kitchen, clad in her raggedy apron and deflated chef's hat. Even now, a montage of all her failed endeavours plays at the forefront of her mind like a reel on You've Been Framed, as she sandwiches the tip of her tongue between her lips, anchoring her focus onto her twelfth and final cupcake. She swirls the tail on her final u, and then takes a step back to marvel at her subpar results.
Among the mountains of cardboard boxes piled around her unfurnished flat and the valley of naked floor mapped in between them, atop her island now sit twelve cupcakes lathered in pink frosting, furnished with cheesy Jesus Loves Yous and her favourite bible verses. Between her bundled belongings and the unassembled bed in the other room, there are a long list of things to do that surely take weight over baking, but prioritising has never been Eve's strongpoint.
She bears this in mind as she stares about the open plan space in search of somewhere to sit. Then the sun casts its setting glow through the windows, fifty shades of orange spill across the sky and tint the room in this inviting warmth, so Eve settles cross-legged by her staggering view of Southmere Lake. Her eyes are widened with wonder, as she ogles at the picturesque scenes before her.
She inhales her cupcake in three large bites, before she clambers back onto her feet and towards the island in the middle of her kitchen. She dots her eleven remaining around a rimmed dish, pep-talks her nerves right back to a corner of her mind too muted to consult with and then marches across her flat and towards the front door. She pulls it open, she's swiftly startled speechless as she comes face to face with a fair-skinned woman, who practically sparkles in the sunlight framing Eve's paused figure.
The woman's beauty renders her dumbstruck for half a second, before she straightens her posture and lets her face unfold into a warming grin.
"Hiya, babe," the woman speaks before Eve gets a chance to. "I'm so sorry, I thought I could smell something burning." Eve glances towards the tray of cupcakes balancing in her one hand, while the other grips the handle on the door even tighter.
"Uh..." The woman's eyes lower to the spread of cupcakes before her, specifically the darkened skin that peaks from beneath their pink frosting, and then her face flushes a strawberry shade of red.
"I am so sorry," she says, with a flustered cringe. Eve, unmoved by the stranger's innocent mistake, lets out a heartfelt laugh.
"You live across the hall?" Eve pries, nodding her head to the door only a metre away from her own, propped open with a pair of mismatched shoes.
"Yeahâwell, no, that's my boyfriend's place. I'm Morgan," the womanâMorgan Spiceâbeams, head tilted and radiance effortlessly amplified.
"I'm Eve. It's nice to meet you."
"Did you just move in? I haven't seen you around," Morgan asks.
"I did. I was actually on my way to knock," Eve pauses, lifting her baked welcomes higher in the air for Morgan to get a better look at. Her hopes to secrete the extra thirty minutes she'd baked them for with mounds of icing were clearly a wasted effort, she knows so by the mildly mortified curl fighting through Morgan's warm smile. "With these."
"Oh... Wow. Thank you so much, we was just craving these," Morgan expresses her painful gratitude, her heart far too large to shoot down Eve's neighbourly deed.
"Craving what?"
A second passes, then a man appears in the doorway across the hall. Eve's eyes drop to the expo of tattoos scribed into every inch of his arms and then back up to his face. His scowl is solid and unimpressed, even more so at the sight of the cupcakes his girlfriend is about to accept.
"Look, babe. Cupcakes."
"They're burnt."
"Babe-uh!" Morgan fusses, casting a glare towards her man. She lowers her voice, and hisses a quiet, "Don't be rude."
"I ain't eating that," he meets her hushed tone with his usual one, looking between Morgan and Eve, who he's somewhat surprised to find amused at his brutally honest nature.
"Ignore him, I'm so sorry, he's just picky. This is my boyfriend, Sullivan," Morgan introduces the pair, leaning back into Sullivan's broad chest, his arm snakes around her waist and Eve can't help but to melt at their loving affection. "Babe, this is Eve."
Sullivan nods his head, "Nice to meet you. Still ain't eating that."
"It's fine. I'm not much of a baker, anyway," Eve laughs, stepping further into her own apartment to abandon her cupcakes on the table positioned by the door.
"You're new to the area?" Morgan asks, Eve nods quietly. "Well, if you need anything, feel free to knock on our door."
"Thanks. It was nice meeting you guys," Eve says, her friendly pitch is a stark contrast to the nerves hurtling throughout her body. Morgan smiles, Sullivan nods, and then the couple disappear back behind their closed door. As Eve too clicks her own locks back into place, forced into her own company once again, her flat seems several hues darker.
Her gaze skates about all her belongings, from long-owned goods to unbuilt furniture, and that smidgen of loneliness is suddenly looming over her like a sky-scraping wave, just waiting to drag her from the surface of her gaping solitude to the deepest, darkest lows of it. It's that same feeling that grips her whole, pride and timidity cast to the wind as she skulks right back across the hall, raps her knuckles against the door and tarries in her spot, until she's face to face with Morgan, once again.
"Know how to build a bed?"
Because I feel bad that it's been two weeks and my Favourite Crime chapter still isn't finished and published. Praying for stamina.
This probably wasn't as good as the first chapter, I hate introducing my main characters separately, but at least I've gotten it out of the way.
Tell me what you guys think!