The smell of butter and vanilla was already spreading through the penthouse by the time Scarlett walked in. Alex already informed them about the situation on the way. She closed the door behind her, clutching a small overnight bag and mentally preparing herself for whatever emotional landmine Max might have left around the kitchen.
Alex went straight upstairs to get a shower and change.
Max was leaning against the marble counter in her signature purple silk robe, and yup, she was naked underneath, a coffee mug in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. Her hair was pulled up in a messy topknot, and her robe slid slightly off one shoulder, showing skin without trying. She was licking the spoon with the smugness of someone who had nothing to prove and every intention of showing off anyway.
Caroline, by contrast, sat cross-legged on one of the stools, wearing her usual sleep uniform of a perfectly fitted t-shirt and soft cotton shorts. Her blonde hair was pinned up loosely, and she was scrolling through a recipe on her phone. A measuring scale and two different sets of measuring spoons sat neatly in front of her, each one aligned like surgical tools.
Scarlett dropped her bag on the couch, went to the bathroom to freshen up quickly, and then walked toward the kitchen.
"Of course, the two of you look like you've been living in a romantic comedy," she grumbled, tugging at the sleeves of her oversized hoodie. "Meanwhile, I show up looking like someone who just lost a custody battle and came straight from court."
Max raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Speak for yourself. I look like a woman who's been properly worshipped and slept through her post-orgasm glow. That's not a rom-com. That's a lifestyle."
Scarlett gave her a look and then turned to Caroline. "And you're just... perfect, of course."
Caroline didn't glance up. "I'm not even wearing mascara. This is my basic mode."
Scarlett stepped closer to the counter and sniffed. "What is that sweet smell?"
"It's supposed to be cinnamon-stuffed brioche with a bourbon glaze," Caroline said, flipping her phone over and picking up a whisk. "Keyword being 'supposed to.' Max keeps trying to freestyle the glaze."
Max popped a piece of uncooked dough into her mouth. "Because your glaze tastes like sadness and college tuition. I'm giving it a little soul."
Caroline swatted at her hand. "We don't taste raw dough, Max. That's why we use timers and logic."
"Logic is for accountants and tax evaders," Max replied. "Cooking is sex and instinct."
Scarlett pulled herself up onto a stool and rested her chin in her hands. "This already looks exhausting."
Max turned to her with mock sympathy. "Aw, you're jealous we get to live here with the world's hottest man while you're still moonlighting as a rejected contestant from The Great British Bake-Off: Los Angeles?"
"Oooh! That wasn't very nice, Max. Sure, we live with him and enjoy all kinds of massages and pleasures. He even cooks for us and takes baths with us. But just because of that, it doesn't mean you should be so harsh on her," Caroline said with a smile.
Scarlett grabbed a spoon and pointed it at her. "Say that again and I will shove this glaze down your throat."
Max opened her mouth to respond, but Caroline clapped her hands once, sharply. "Enough. If we're doing this, we're doing it together. No chaos or sass battles. Just flour, sugar, heat, and the desperate attempt to make Scarlett less of a cookie hazard."
'I'll get you two one day,' Scarlett made a quick mental note to something so good with Alex that would make both of them jealous.
...
[45 minutes later]
After a quick dinner...
Back to the kitchen.
The kitchen was a beautiful kind of chaos. Butter wrappers fluttered like confetti across the counter. A cloud of flour hovered mid-air, lit up by the warm pendant lights. Measuring cups clinked. Whisks spun. And somewhere in the background, Max had put on an upbeat playlist that clashed hilariously with the emotional monologue playing from Caroline's late-night drama.
Caroline was perched on the couch with a bowl of blueberries, legs tucked beneath her. The television was tuned to her favorite show, Cash Out Girl, where the lead, a former Wall Street banker, now ran a questionable frozen yogurt stand in the mall food court and solved crimes on the side. Caroline was emotionally invested. She kept muttering things like, "Don't do it, Janelle. That man still owes you thirty grand and a blender," while spooning berries into her mouth with intense focus.
Max, on the other hand, had fully donned the persona of baking coach. She wore a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses she had found in a drawer, had tied a kitchen towel around her neck like a cape, and was brandishing a wooden spoon like a baton.
Scarlett stood at the island, clutching a measuring cup and staring at a pile of flour like it was radioactive. Her sleeves were rolled up, her hair pulled into a messy bun, and she already had a streak of powdered sugar across her cheek.
Max slapped her hand gently. "No! That is bread flour. We are baking cookies. That is for sad loaves and broken promises. Use the pastry flour, darling."
Scarlett blinked. "They look exactly the same!"
"To amateurs," Max said, gesturing dramatically toward the cabinet. "Grab the bag with the purple label. It's the only flour in this kitchen with any sense of direction."
Scarlett reached for it and sighed. "Why do I feel like I signed up for a cooking class taught by a wine-drunk fashion critic?"
"Because you did," Max said, pushing a bowl toward her. "Now crack those eggs like they insulted your dress."
Scarlett cracked the first egg, too hard, and half the shell went in.
"Jesus," Max muttered, fishing the shards out with the precision of a surgeon. "What are you, a crime scene investigator? This yolk didn't deserve a bludgeoning."
Meanwhile, Caroline laughed from the couch without even looking up. "I give her twelve minutes before she throws the mixer."
"Nine," Max replied without hesitation. "Seven if she glances at Alex again."
Scarlett had, in fact, just glanced at Alex.
He was on the new treadmill Caroline had installed last week. Positioned near the balcony, it faced out toward the city skyline. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but black gym shorts and headphones. His muscles flexed with each stride, and sweat glistened on his skin like some cruel cinematic lighting had been dialed up just for him. Even the treadmill sounded sexier when he used it.
Scarlett stared openly for a few seconds longer than she should have.
Max snapped her fingers in her face. "Eyes on the dough, horndog. You are folding, not fantasizing."
"I'm not fantasizing," Scarlett muttered, dragging her eyes back to the bowl.
"You were mentally licking his abs like a waffle cone."
Scarlett turned red and stuttered. "I... Ha! I was not!"
"You were," Caroline called out, still watching Cash Out Girl. "I paused the show and even I noticed."
"I hate you both," Scarlett said, folding in the chocolate chips with unnecessary aggression.
"Love is war," Max replied. "Now fold like you mean it. Don't just stir. Fold. It's like tucking in the feelings of a sad clown."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means stop beating the batter like it's a piñata and show it some damn respect."
Scarlett groaned and tried again. She glanced at Alex one more time. His back muscles flexed with every step. She lost count of how many strokes she had stirred and completely forgot what she was doing.
"Focus!" Max barked. "Or I swear to God, I will summon Rachel and let her give you feedback."
Scarlett straightened immediately. "Okay, okay! Folding. See? Look at me go. I'm folding like a goddamn origami master."
"Better," Max said, nodding like a strict schoolteacher. "Now say thank you, Max, for blessing me with the ancient art of cookie folding."
Scarlett narrowed her eyes. "Thank you, Max, for being the worst cult leader in baking history."
Max grinned. "You're welcome, peasant."
Scarlett muttered under her breath and returned to the tray. Max hovered over her shoulder, examining her every move like she was hosting Top Chef: Emotional Damage Edition.
"Now form them into balls," Max instructed. "Evenly spaced. These are cookies, not a social experiment."
Scarlett rolled one dough ball too small.
"Nope," Max said. "That's a baby. We want confident, round, adult cookies. Not existential crumbs."
Scarlett exaggerated her next roll, making it twice the size.
"Now it's a boulder. You're overcorrecting. Don't be dramatic, be precise."
Alex walked into the kitchen, towel slung around his neck, still shirtless, and paused when he saw the cookie carnage.
Max raised her hand like a traffic officer. "Back, demon. You are not allowed to distract the student."
Scarlett pointed at her. "See? I'm being bullied!"
Alex smirked, poured himself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter. "You're all insane."
Caroline got up and kissed him on the cheek. "That's why you love us."
Max pointed at the oven timer. "Scarlett, tray in. And if you burn them, I will haunt your dreams with gluten facts."
Scarlett slid the tray in with exaggerated care. She turned to Max, wiped her hands on a towel, and looked surprisingly proud of herself.
"I did it," she said.
Max nodded solemnly. "You made cookie dough. You didn't set anything on fire. You're now qualified to run a small bakery in a dangerous neighborhood."
Scarlett grinned and leaned back on the counter.
"You did good," he said softly.
She leaned near him and whispered, "Thanks. I needed this."
He kissed her cheek. "Next time just give me a call."
Max leaned against the fridge and sighed. "Fine. I guess you're not a complete disaster."
Caroline sat back on the couch. "Cue the group hug and dramatic season finale music."
They all laughed.
...
Approx. 10 minutes later, the timer dinged and the cookies were ready.
Scarlett opened the oven with a careful grip, her face bathed in the warm glow from inside. The sweet scent of sugar and browned butter hit her full force. She reached for a mitt and slowly pulled the tray out, holding her breath as if it were a newborn.
Max peered over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. "Moment of truth."
Scarlett set the tray down. The cookies had spread just enough, their edges golden, centers soft. One of them was slightly misshapen, but still charming in a way that screamed handmade rather than disaster.
Caroline stood up and walked over. She picked up the weird one, broke it in half, and steam escaped. She took a bite and paused.
Scarlett stared at her. "Well?"
Caroline chewed slowly, then looked up with a calm face.
"Edible," she said.
Scarlett gaped. "That's it? Edible?"
Caroline smiled. "Better than edible. Good. Soft in the middle. Nice edge crisp. You actually didn't suck."
Max took one next, bit in, and raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Damn. Look at you. Cookie sorceress in the making."
Scarlett sagged against the counter, a grin breaking across her face. "Okay. That's all I needed today."
Alex took one too. He bit in and nodded with quiet approval.
"They're good," he said. "Really good."
Scarlett flushed again, but this time it was pride, not embarrassment. She crossed her arms and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Okay. Someone else do the dishes or I riot."
Max patted her on the back. "Welcome to the club, rookie."
Caroline gathered the mixing bowls and spoons without complaint. "We'll clean up. You did the work."
Scarlett moved toward the couch, grabbed a blanket, and sank into the cushions. She stretched her legs out, exhaled deeply, and stared up at the ceiling like she had just survived a final exam.
After a quick clean up...
Max turned down the playlist volume. Caroline dimmed the lights slightly. The mood shifted into something warmer, quieter. The chaos had passed. What remained was the afterglow.
Alex walked over and sat on the floor beside the couch, resting his back against it. Scarlett looked down at him.
"That was the most domestic thing I've done in a decade," she said softly.
He smiled. "You're good at it."
"No," she replied. "I'm good at pretending. But that felt real."
He looked at her, more serious now. "It was."
Max flopped onto the other end of the couch with a fresh cookie in one hand and her phone in the other. "Well, I've got the pictures. If these ever leak, Scarlett's rep as the ice queen is over."
Scarlett didn't even flinch. "Let them. Honestly, I'm kind of tired of being untouchable."
Caroline joined them, sitting on the rug and resting her chin in her palm. "That's how it starts," she said. "First you bake. Then you care. Then you love. Then you realize being soft doesn't mean being weak."
No one said anything for a few moments. The cookie tray sat on the table, still warm. The room was full of soft breathing, shared presence, and the faint hum of the city outside.
Alex finally broke the silence. "She invited me to dinner." [He told Scarlett about Angelina on the way. She kinda accepted that, considering she was already used to it. And he told Max and Caroline during the 2-day time skip.]
Caroline looked up. "Angelina?"
He nodded. "Tomorrow night."
Max groaned. "I just got her to stop looking like a ghost at gunpoint. Now we have to reset the chessboard again."
Scarlett said nothing. Her eyes were on Alex.
Caroline shifted. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going," he said. "But I'm not pushing her. She decides."
Max scoffed. "She's going to say yes."
Scarlett turned toward him, her voice softer. "And if she does?"
"Another addition to Moneybag's harem," Max said with a large grin. "Just save some stamina for us."
---
AN: Saving the golden spatula for later.
---
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[5 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers] [No double billing.]
---
Quick update: I'll be taking a small break to stockpile chapters. Will be back on Sunday.