Sweet Tooth // Shawn Blurb
Shawn sucks as a co-baker. He doesn’t even bake, he says he wants to help and then just watches you bake and says he helped in the end. He’s a notorious cookie dough eating, cake batter spatula licking, frosting spoon hijacker. The guy has a sweet tooth for days and you’re pretty sure if he ‘samples’ another one of your mini cakes his teeth might fall out of his head.
“Don’t! Shawn! Don’t you do it!” you point the chocolate cake batter covered spatula at him as he hovers his finger over the frosting bowl. “Put that hand back where it came from or so help me!”
He laughs and puts his hand down. “Cmon, I just wanna taste it. You said it’s bourbon maple frosting! How am I, a Canadian man, supposed to resist that?”
“Like this,” you say, taking the bowl away from him. You place it on the counter behind you and turn back to the cake batter. “Can you get me the silicone molds from the cupboard?” you point at the cupboard above the fridge.
Shawn gets up and goes to the cupboard, opening it and pulling out all the silicone molds. “Um, which ones? There are like a dozen up here.”
“The maple leaves and the ones that look like cinnamon buns.”
Shawn groans and takes down the ones you requested. “I should hold these ransome for frosting.”
You cut him a glare. He takes it as a challenge and leaves the molds on top of the fridge, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips. “Shawn Peter Ra-”
“Ah, ah! Don’t you use my full name!”
You throw your flour covered towel on the counter at him and he laughs as he jumps out of the way. He hated it when you used his full name in a fit of rage. “I’ll use it! I’ll say your whole damn ridiculous name!” Shawn giggles, legitimately giggles and you throw a handful of flour at him because he is inching closer to the frosting you set on the counter. “Shawn!”
Shawn grabs the molds off the fridge and tosses them at you, distracting you for just long enough that he can scoop a finger full of frosting and pop it into his mouth before running off into the living room. You let out an exasperated yell. He was such a child sometimes. As you start to fill the molds and tap the sides to get the air bubbles out, you see his head poke around the doorway. You don’t look up from your work as you say, “Yes, Shawn?”
“Can you make me some of that frosting? Just for me.” You look up, raising your eyebrows at him. “Please? It’s so good, I don’t want to end up eating all your cakes…I know they aren’t for me, but I don’t know if I would have enough self control to stop. So if you made me some I would-”
“Fine,” you smile at him and he walks into the kitchen to lean against the counter next to you. “You have a deal. No cake theft and no more frosting theft today and you’ll get your own little bowl of bourbon maple frosting.”
Shawn leans over and cups your jaw, pulling your head closer as he presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re talented and I love you.”
“I love you to, frosting thief.”
“I love you more,” he says and dips his finger into the batter of a maple leaf mold before popping it in his mouth and grinning. You open your mouth to yell at him and he cuts you off, “You didn’t stipulate I couldn’t steal batter!” God dammit.