Bombshell
I tried to shake off the lingering thoughts of what had transpired between Miller and me, focusing instead on Raphael and our new year together.
I was at Raphael's apartment, surrounded by the familiar scent of butter and flour. Rachel, his cousin, was bubbling with excitement as she stood beside me, watching me mix the dough for the cupcakes.
“I wonder how you get the right proportion of ingredients. I keep getting it wrong every time,” Rachel commented as she passed me the sugar.
“You have to follow the recipes. You will get it right if you follow the recipes,” I answered her as I pickled sugar into the bowl.
“But you are not using a recipe now,” she whined, childishly.
“I'm a baker. I've been baking for seven years if not more than that. I have the recipes copied in
