“You wouldn’t ask that if you could taste one of my deep, dark chocolate devil’s food cupcakes,” she said enticingly. “The cake itself is dense and moist and it just fits in the palm of your hand. Well…” She looked at his large, rough looking hands. “You could probably hold two or three. But anyway, when they first come out of the oven they’re hot and sweet and sticky—they practically melt in your mouth.”
“That sounds…strange.”
“Not strange—delicious. Stay and talk to me a little while. I’ll tell you all about it.”
He frowned. “Why should I stay? I have duties to attend to.”
“Because I’m lonely.” She didn’t have to lie about that—it was the absolute truth. “Please…just talk to me for a minute,” she whispered, almost pleading.
“I shouldn’t.” But he settled himself slowly in the opposite corner of her cell and made a motion with his hand. “Go on—tell me more.”
“I frost them twice,” Lauren said, her heart thumping. “With homemade butter cream frosting. First, when they’re hot out of the oven, I put on a thin layer that just melts right down into the cake. After they cool, I frost them again. I pipe out a thick, creamy dollop right on top and then cover them with chocolate sprinkles that crunch when you take a bite.” She closed her eyes, remembering the deep, chocolate flavor wistfully. “They’re so good people come from all over to get one.”
“All the flavors and textures you describe…I’ve never had anything like that.” He shook his head. “We have no such ‘pleasures’ aboard the Fathership.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Lauren sighed. “And that isn’t even my best seller. I make a raspberry filled vanilla bean cupcake with cream cheese frosting that’s out of this world.” Remembering her surroundings, she gave a sad little laugh. “Well, out my world, anyway.”
“You’re very passionate about your work. These things you make—the cakecups—”
“Cupcakes,” Lauren corrected gently, studying him from under lowered lashes as she talked.
Despite his frightening eyes and strange, gray skin, he had strong, noble features that looked like they had been carved out of granite. His profile looked almost Native American and she had an idea that the coal black hair he kept in a club at the back of his neck might be soft and thick if he ever let it free.
“Cup…cakes,” he repeated slowly. “You enjoy making them for others to consume?”
“Yes, I enjoy it very much. I love baking—creating things that give other people pleasure.” She smiled at him. “I wish I could bake one for you.”
“Me?” He looked startled. “Why would you wish such a thing?”
“To see you eat it. To watch your face when you first bite into it—I love to watch people the first time they taste one of my cupcakes.”
“You do?” He sounded perplexed.
Lauren nodded. “Yes—it’s always the same. The smell gets them first—warm and fragrant and then they have to take a bite. Even the ones who swear they’re on a diet—they just can’t resist.”
He leaned forward a little. “Yes? And then?”
“And then the flavor hits them. It rolls over their tongue, sweet and perfect as the cupcake just melts in their mouth. Their teeth sink through that moist, delicious texture and crunch on the sprinkles. Then their eyes roll up in their head and most of the time they moan.”
“They moan?” He frowned, his red eyes narrowing. “I thought you said it was a pleasurable experience.”
“It is. They moan because it tastes so good—feels so good in their mouth. Haven’t you ever had anything that made you feel so good you just had to let it out?” Lauren asked.
He shook his head. “No, never.”
She sighed. “Then I really wish I could give you one of my cupcakes. If we were on Earth, in my shop right now I would hand you one and say, ‘Here you go, Mr…” She paused and tilted her head to one side. “I just realized I don’t know your name.”
He frowned. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. I am called Xairn.”
“Is that your last name or your first?”
“I have only one name.”
“All right. Zzzairnnn.” She rolled the name on her tongue and looked up at him. “And I’m Lauren—but you probably already know that.”
“Your name is known to me,” he acknowledged gruffly. “Not that it makes any difference.”