Tracy
A recipe for disaster -- that’s what this was turning out to be. With a yelp of pain he dropped the pan of burnt cookies and dived for the faucet, sighing in relief as the cold cascade of water cooled the burn streak across his fingertips. Even his oven mitts weren’t cooperating, he thought, eyeing the gaping hole in one of them.
His latest baking spree had turned into a weekend long marathon, dotted with one disaster after another. In his estimation, sugar should not look exactly like salt. Accidents were bound to happen and he was sure he wasn't the first person to put a cup of salt into a batch of cookies. And who knew there were so many kinds of sugar anyway? Demerra, yellow, dark brown, fine, confectioner’s, cane…They looked different, felt different and definitely yielded different results when added to a batch of cookie dough. And since when did roll out cookies mean flattening out with a rolling pin, not rolling the dough into a ball? Or why hadn’t his mother warned him that baking soda and baking powder were not interchangeable? And that eggs came in different sizes but recipes didn’t specify which size was called for?
Head spinning, he muttered his exasperation in unflattering terms as he turned off the tap and set about cleaning the kitchen…again. He’d done little else the past two days and he was no closer to finding the perfect recipe, and the contest was this week! Cursing the collective bad luck of the ‘bullpen boys’ as Lucy had dubbed them he took out some of his frustration on the hapless charred remains of what were supposed to be his grandmother’s never-fail hermit cookies. He’d likely have to become a hermit after this fiasco was all over.
“Eleanor Rippendorf!” Her name rolled off his tongue like the vilest of oaths and he took great delight in upending the cookie tray into the garbage. If only Eleanor could be dismissed that easily.
She had cornered their unsuspecting group at a restaurant, just as she had in previous years, catching them unawares as they wolfed down a hasty lunch without the girls for protection. Sue and Lucy had gone to Charlie’s on some errand and Tara had been at an ill-timed dental appointment, which left the men of the team vulnerable to the attack.
Eleanor had swooped in, a chilling combination of coos and trills as she launched into her latest charity project. A celebrity bake off.
“That’s great, Eleanor, but we’re not celebrities,” he had pointed out with a false sense of relief.
“You are to me, fellas,” she’d said as she batted her eyelashes and pursed her lips. He’d known a moment of blind panic when he thought she was going to lean over and kiss him but D had deftly distracted her by lamenting his unavailability due to his married status.
“This time it doesn’t matter, handsome. We’re looking for the best cooks DC has to offer from all walks of life. I’ll put you in our Community Service Worker division. All we need from you is a plate of your very own home baked cookies and the recipe, written out in your own manly script. Our discerning judges…of which I am one…(twitter)…will provide the necessary tastebuds…(she rolled her tongue and poked it out the side of her mouth along with a suggestive wink)…We’ll decide who gets into the semi-finals. The finals take place on the Fourth of July when you’ll head up a hand-picked team to bake your cookies in our outdoor ovens and the public will decide who our top twelve winners will be. They win a page in our…Hunk of the Month calendar…photo and recipe included. All proceeds go to the children’s hospital…How can you say no to that?”
A hearty round of nays had echoed through the restaurant and that was that until the call came from upstairs. In the interest of improving public relations it was deemed beneficial for certain agents to volunteer their services to a charitable cause…
He’d been baking each weekend ever since and had yet to find an edible recipe and now time was running out.
"Desperate times call for desperate measures" he mumbled to himself as he reached for the phone “Time to swallow your pride and ask for help, Hudson!”
Not that he had to actually be desperate to call Sue...that just didn't sound right! But he did have to be desperate to swallow his pride and admit defeat.
Sue had been kind enough to offer to help him as soon as she heard about the bake-off, knowing he wasn’t exactly in his element in a kitchen. She knew his area of expertise in the kitchen consisted mainly of popping microwavable meals into the microwave and boiling water (of course, he hadn’t even always been successful at that...there was that one time he almost burned down the apartment when boiling water).
But he, being the macho Special Agent that he was, had refused her offer of help, as if she were trying to offer him a map, determined to prove that he could do this on his own! But, alas, he conceded, he was wrong...he needed Sue to help rescue him, and his kitchen, from this disaster!
