~ Birds Do It ~

by

*lizzie starr

While she smoothed a base layer of white frosting over the large cake and contemplated design choices, Birdie glanced around the great room that opened beyond the wide island counter. Spacious and uncluttered, the room exuded solid, male comfort. An overstuffed couch and chairs faced a huge television. An undecipherable array of electronic equipment flanked the screen.

Even the fireplace spoke of masculine presence. A simple stone mantle held a grouping of three pictures to one side, and a plant she thought must be silk trailed from the other. Uncertain if she should feel free to explore the unknown, she ached to take a closer look at the pictures.

Only a couple of stuffed animals placed carefully in one chair broke the aura of man. Birdie frowned to herself. Her unreasonable desire to know more, to discover everything she could about one Garr Logan, was disturbing. Garr. Even his name tasted of masculine virility when she whispered it to herself.

Summoned by her thoughts, Garr descended the stairs buttoning a crisply pressed, tan shirt. He paused on the bottom step, glanced toward the sun porch. then headed in the opposite direction. With a cheery wave, he was gone.

Birdie sighed, tried to force her curiosity and the fluttering in her chest away, and peered at the smooth, blank surface of the cake. What had she gotten herself into? A soft chattering, a strangely calm sound from a large parrot, sounded from the sunroom.

Bright inspiration flowed into Birdie as she picked up a small bowl, filled it with white icing and reached for the package of tiny bottles of food coloring.

Sometime later, she finished a final swirl around the word birthday and held the decorating bag suspended above the cake. Only one thing was needed to complete her edible work of art--the birthday girl’s name.

A movement, caught from the corner of her eye, startled her into squeezing a blob of bright yellow onto the center of the cake. "Oh, no."

Garr shoved his hand under the bag and caught another glop of icing in his palm. He moved to the sink, washed the color away, and dried his hands with a paper towel. "Sorry I startled you. I’ve been here awhile. Watching."

Birdie slammed the bag onto the counter, and splattered yellow across the granite surface. "Oh, d--darn it anyway." She turned an apologetic smile to Garr. "I get so involved sometimes, I don’t often notice what’s going on around me. No harm done. As long as you wipe up the counter."

Garr’s eyes widened imperceptibly. Had she really said that? Commanded him to clean up after her? Crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. Hazel. His eyes were hazel. Unable to look away, Birdie wondered if the color changed depending on his mood, or what he was thinking.

Garr turned his smile to the cake and pointed at the yellow mound. "That’s not harm?"

Using a flat spatula, Birdie scooped up the offending icing and dropped it back into a small bowl. After wiping the spatula on a damp dishrag, she scraped the last of the white icing from its container and repaired the damage. Smoothing the surface with a deft flick of her wrist, she spoke. "I need to know how your daughter spells her name."

"The French way."

"And that is?" Birdie held up a hand. "Wait a sec." She reached for a second decorating bag filled with bright blue icing. After testing the flow from the tip over a bowl, she paused with the tip close to the cake. "Okay, shoot."

"R." Garr swallowed heavily. This woman, a stranger, came into his house, magically quieted a maniacal bird, and created the most beautiful cake for his daughter. Her hand moved smoothly, putting a final, flowery flourish to the large letter.

"A." She arched her shoulders forward as if easing tight muscles. Garr’s fingers twitched, and he longed to soothe, to comfort, to relax her tension. That longing curled into a tension of his own, low in his belly.

"C." Pausing, Birdie held the top of the decorating bag in one hand, wrapped the fingers of her other hand around it, and gently forced the icing toward the tip. Then, she wrapped her fingers more tightly around the bag and adjusted her grip slightly. Garr bit back a low groan.

"H." How the letter got past the lump in his throat was a miracle. Unbidden, unwanted, the vision of her fingers wrapped around... stroking... caressing... squeezing...

His body responded painfully.

"E." A deep intake of breath filled him with her scent; spice and warm vanilla. As casually as he could, he moved to the other side of the island to hide his physical reaction. Perhaps the distance would help.

"Two L’s." How long had it really been since he’d been attracted to a woman, drawn to someone so intimately? The tip of her pink tongue peeked from her mouth as she concentrated, moving slowly along her full lower lip as if it traced the letters as well.

"E." By God, if she didn’t stop caressing that damn bag...

"There, finished." Birdie looked up at him. A triumphant smile made her face bright and beautiful. She sucked an icing covered finger into her mouth. "What do you think?"

I think I want to know you better. Much better. Realizing she waited for an answer, Garr cleared his throat and tore his gaze from her face to look at the cake. A large blue bird covered nearly a third of the surface; the yellow-circled eye watched him much as the monster did. "It’s remarkably like Brutus."

She giggled. "That’s what I was trying for. Oh, wait." Scrounging through the mess on the counter, Birdie came up with a candle shaped like a nine. After placing it carefully, it looked like the bird held the candle in an outstretched claw. The bright yellow Happy Birthday above the deep blue name made the cake an artistic masterpiece.

"Amazing. Rache will love it. How can I ever thank you?" He inched back around the counter to stand beside Birdie. "I’m in your debt. First for helping with the bird, and now this."

Birdie spread her hands. The movement tugged her blouse tight across her breasts. Garr moved closer. The blue in her eyes deepened until the gray disappeared. He sank deep into her gaze. He was going to kiss her--again and again if she would let him. Her eyes told him she would. The space between them narrowed.

Garr put his hand on the counter and into a bowl of icing. Muttering under his breath, he turned away. This was not the time for... for what? What happened here? Keeping his back to Birdie, he washed his hands. "I think we’re nearly ready for the party now." With a quick glance at his watch, he nodded. "Yep, the girls should be arriving soon."

Deep inside his head an inner voice echoed. But not leaving soon enough. Alone. How could he get this woman alone?

"Garr? Is something wrong?"