Page 155 of A Taste of Vanilla

“What? I’m agreeing with you. You should be happy.”

“You’re being weird about it.”

“I’m supporting you.”

“You’re making it difficult.”

“That, my friend, sounds like a personal problem.”

I open my eyes to find her watching me, her cheeks slightlypink and her eyes far too bright for someone who’s only talking about muffin batter.

The problem is she knows that I’m not what most people would describe asvanilla.

Not the way people mean it when they whisper it with judgment.

I know she knows. Because I remember her hands in my hair and the way she looked at me when she realized how much of me had been hidden under long sleeves and quiet answers. I remember her face when she learned that calm doesn’t always mean gentle.

Her gaze dips to my forearms and back to the bananas.

She knows.

I clear my throat. “Vanilla isn’t boring.”

“I’m sure you have a long explanation as to why.”

I exhale through my nose and look at the recipe. “Vanilla carries flavor. It makes the sweetness of a cookie warmer and brings out flavors that would normally be overpowered. If you don’t add vanilla, most people can’t name what’s wrong, but they know that something is flat.”

Her smile fades a little.

I keep going.

“It matters more than most people think. It changes everything around it for the better.”

She looks at me for a second too long, and the kitchen suddenly feels much warmer.

“That was actually really beautiful,” she says quietly.

I’m confused. “It was just technical.”

“Sure.”

“It was!”

“Of course.” She looks down at the bowl and mashes the bananas once more. “Technical.”

I should let it end.

“Using enough of it is important.”

Her eyes flick up. “Enough vanilla?”

“Yeah.”

She nods. “Right.”

I look at the recipe, but I feel her eyes on me.

Neither of us says anything else, but there’s a very obvious thing sitting between us.