A/N: College has Not been nice to the freshman Cuppie here ;-; sigh. Oh well! It's Chip's birthday so I decided to write something for the special occasion. I don't think I'll be having time soon to write for this series though, so maybe I'll see you guys sometime (hopefully) soon. Hope you enjoy the chapter, and hope everyone's doing well :')

*

"What are you watching?" I asked after coming out from the shower, taking in my husband who had himself wrapped in our covers like a sushi roll—staring intently at the screen of his laptop. Naturally, there were better things to stare at, which included me. Half-naked.

Good job, Xander. You're jealous of a laptop screen.

Chip popped his head out of the makeshift sushi roll and turned to beckon me closer. "Come and watch this, Xan! It's the latest episode of MasterChef." I couldn't resist the smile made of sunshine, giving in to the husband-pressure (which is definitely not a word but I know no shit apart from peer pressure) and sidling up to the empty space beside him.

"It's a cooking competition," I laid out after putting some clothes on, unimpressed. I hadn't meant it as a question but the look on Chip's face told me that he had interpreted it as one.

"Yeap! A cooking competition for home cooks."

I took a closer look. The screenplay cut to a random contestant making cupcakes and failing terribly at it.

"You should join that," I teased, unwrapping him from the sushi-roll-covers before spooning. My angel went along with it, making himself comfortable. "You'd wreck them all."

"That's silly Xan," he pouted, pointing at someone in the screen whom I assumed was a judge. "This judge is really strict and scary. Everyone's really good at cooking too, you know."

I leaned down to rest my chin on his narrow shoulder. "So you watch this to learn from them?"

"Mhm!" My husband nodded excitably. "So that I can come up with new recipes to cook for you and Giselle."

The sheepish smile of anticipation that he had on his face was enough to shut me up for an entire episode, and although I'd hate to admit it—the show was addictive as fuck. Yes, partly because Chip would gasp adorably at every dramatic scene and look extremely worried whenever the home cooks were having an argument (which was, for some reason, always), causing Gordon Ramsay to start screaming at their heads; but mostly because the food looks genuinely good.

Within a single episode, I had already become a self-proclaimed expert on pies and tarts. Theoretically.

"Angel, where can I watch the previous episodes?"

Chip looked thoroughly surprised by my question, taking a moment to digest it whilst blinking rapidly. "Y-you want to watch the rest?"

"Yeah."

His eyes lit up like the sky at dawn. "Really? O-okay! Do you want to start with season one? It's a Friday night so we can afford to stay up a little—"

"Wait," I paused. Gears turning. "It's Friday."

My angel nodded, looking up at me with a puzzled expression. "Did you forget something important?"

"Yes," I removed the laptop from our bed and placed it aside. "Friday nights are reserved for sexy time."

Chip's ears darkened by several shades and he stammered a couple of excuses before turning speechless as soon as I removed my shirt.

*

We spent the Saturday binge-watching episodes of MasterChef on TV with Giselle, who was a whole lot more invested in the series than Chip and myself.

"What's he making?" She asked for the third time, posing the question whenever the screen cut to another contestant, to which my husband would reply (in the most patient and gentle tone) with the same answer he gave previously.

"They're trying to replicate Chef Ramsay's fish and chips!"

"Oh...fish and chips."

I was feeling increasingly famished after spending the past couple of episodes on the treadmill at jogging pace, unable to remain seated for the entire morning.

"You know, we should have a MasterBaker at home," my sister voiced out of the blue, eyes glued on the screen of our television. Chip and I turned to her.

"A baking competition?"

Giselle nodded. "I can judge. You two compete," she slurped at her strawberry milkshake. "Winner does anything loser says."

Without a doubt, I was all for it. "Sounds fun. What do you think Angel?"

There wasn't even a need for a moment's consideration—there had been something I was dying to try and I was certain that a win would guarantee the fulfilment of my desires. Okay, but only if Chip agrees to it. Although it'd definitely take some persuasion...and that's if I actually win.

After all, it was near impossible to beat my husband in his element.

"I don't mind," Chip paused the video and turned to us with a spark in his eye. "But are you sure about this? I bake every single day you know."

Giselle laughed. "Free win for Chocolate Chip." My husband laughed along with her.

"Doesn't matter," I growled, embracing my inner competitive streak (okay but I'm weak against Chip though, honestly speaking). "I'm going to impress you with the best...whatever it is that I'm going to make."

My sister burst out cackling while Chip remained innocently excited (hmm, kinky) by the challenge that I'd issued.

"Deal!"

*

It took us a while to settle for a day when the three of us (including the guest judges—Chip's siblings) were free and when we finally did, I was off scheming my path to victory. Needless to be say, I was eyeing for the ultimate prize for known reasons but I couldn't quite tell if my husband was, too. He was looking forward to it; that much I knew and yet I wouldn't exactly consider it new information.

"What are you making on Saturday?" He asked one evening, accustomed to our occasional together-time in the bath.

"Curious?" I smirked. "You'll find out soon."

To which he pouted and snatched the bar of soap out of my hands. "Hmm...fine then."

I found myself quietly amazed by the extent to which we could converse casually in the bath (naked, nonetheless), since only months ago Chip would have been blushing for the next ten minutes; a stuttering mess. Still is, though.

Only when I make him.

"You know, I've...been thinking," Chip whispered as he snuggled close. We were getting ready for bed when he decided to bring this up, and my attention doubled.

"Is this about having a kid? I don't mind."

I received a (mild) punch on my shoulder. "Xan! Th-that's not what I—nevermind..."

"Go on," I laughed, pulling him into my arms. It was a perfect fit.

"No it's nothing..." My husband peered up, pausing to think. "I was having a hard time coming up with ideas for what I would make you do when I win the competition."

I blinked, holding him at arm's length. "Wait. When?" He nodded and I poked his cheek. "I think you meant if you win."

"Nnnno I didn't."

I could tell from the sheepish smile on his lips that he was in the mood for some play. After all, Chip ruled the kitchen and there was no contesting that claim. If only he were this confident about his appearance...

"Okay Angel, if you say so," I teased. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try my best to win this."

Chip hummed, slightly suspicious. "Hm. Knowing you, it's most likely the prize that you're going for." The light that filtered through the window was dim, but I could tell that he was blushing since his eyes wouldn't meet mine. "Y-you'll probably make me do something embarrassing, right?"

Damn.

"...Was it that obvious?" I laughed low, reaching over to help adjust his pillow.

My husband made a soft sound of exasperation. "W-well! You don't exactly close your tabs after you're done with online shopping, s-so. I know that you bought this...um, this weird—" he held up his hand to illustrate the size of what I assumed was the remote-controlled vibrator that I'd ordered the day before. "A-anyway, it looked suuper suspicious, so I know you're up to something."

His ears were a shade darker than before and I could tell he was sexually confused. Okay, no I couldn't but you get my drift.

"I promise, it's got nothing to do with that and," I attempted a shrug. "I've got basically no chance of winning, honestly speaking."

Chip did not seem to buy my humble streak.

*

In order to ensure that I had this one in the bag, I gave my sister-in-law a call after being told from the department head that I only had one class to fill on Monday. Naturally, I asked if she could teach me the ropes.

"Xander? Yes, yes I've heard of the competition," Rose sounded like she was trying hard not to laugh on the other end. "Giselle came up with it? You know, Joe and I should do it too. He'd definitely lose, then perhaps I could make him do the dishes for an entire week just this once."

I cut to the chase and told her that I needed help with the basics of a certain pastry. "Hm...I see. Would this be considered cheating, you think?" Sister-in-law asked and I promptly froze on the spot. This was the person who raised Chip with the strictest morals. It was then that I realized both Rose and I had raised our own siblings—struggled to, but did so in the end.

"Good question," I dodged the arrow of guilt swiftly. "It's alright then, I'll figure it out myself. Hopefully."

"I was just kidding, dear," Rose laughed over the phone and I swore she got me good. "How about I text you the basic ingredients and measurements? As to whether or not you can replicate Chip's...that would be up to you."

I thanked her twice before disconnecting the call, heading towards the grocery store to get the ingredients so that I could practice before Chip got home.

__________________________

[Saturday]

"Okay. So," my husband handed me an apron after tying his own, setting aside a timer on the island. "We have an hour till our judges arrive."

I could tell that he was excited. We'd usually spend our weekends cuddling on the couch after bringing Giselle to the hospital for weekly check-ups, or walking Berry at a nearby park—so something like this was an entirely new experience for the us three.

"You sure you don't want to bake?"

Chip folded his arms and tried to appear indignant. The result was insane levels of cute which, although, was perfectly easy on the eyes, was not good for the heart. "W-well! Don't let your guard down just because of that because I'm going to win and...and um, make you do whatever it is that I want you to do."

Part of me wanted to let him have the win, because then I'd get to see what it was that he wanted me to do; but then the other part was like: nah. Chip was kind enough to give himself a handicap (which wasn't exactly a handicap 'cuz as I've said, he rules the kitchen) and steer himself away from his forte—baking—and I wasn't going to let this slip.

"Three more minutes!" Giselle called from the counter where she sat atop a barstool, timer in hand. There was a doodle book opened to an empty page in front of her, which I assumed was there just in case she couldn't keep her attention here.

"You're not getting your ingredients out?" I stared at my husband, who appeared not to have a single plate on his side of the kitchen top.

"I'm going to start fifteen minutes after you so that the food doesn't go cold," Chip explained after taking the empty seat beside my sister. Xander, you are definitely out of your element here.

"Point taken. Is this a second handicap for me?" I smirked. "I'll make you proud."

He huffed, purposefully avoiding my gaze so that he wouldn't turn pink from eye contact. It still happens, y'know. Just that it takes a little longer before he turns into a tiny strawberry.

"Xandie, your time starts...now!" Meanwhile, Giselle was obviously anticipating the moment in which she could re-enact a line from MasterChef and started the timer without warning.

I laid out the ingredients and started out with bringing the milk to a boil, praying that I wouldn't screw such a simple thing up despite having practised for at least three times. I recalled the next step and proceeded to whip out a mixing bowl and throw flour, salt, sugar and yeast before giving it a brief mix.

This is more stressful than I thought it would be. I knew it was tough getting the pastry right, but doing it under timed conditions was just way worse than I'd expected. And he does it everyday—

"So, Xandie. Talk to me about your dish," Giselle said amidst bouts of laughter. Chip was writing something on her doodle book, so I assumed he was telling her the common lines that judges would use on the show.

"No shit, I can't." I focused on adding butter to the milk after taking it off the heat.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't multicool for a fuck," I made a well in the center of the mixing bowl so that the mixture could be poured. Then I realized that I'd mixed my words up. "I meant multi-task. I need to leave this to cool."

Giselle laughed at me like she usually did and read out something else from her doodle book. "You can't curse on national TV, Xandie."

I rolled my eyes, unable to divide my attention between talking and making this difficult-to-master pastry. "Fine."

Add the mixture to the dry...then what is it? Oh yeah, the eggs. Shit, how many was it? Fuck I forgot. Wait, I have to beat it. As long as the dough—

*

[Chip]

As soon as Xander turned on the heat and began boiling the milk, I knew what he was going to make. It sort of swelled in my chest; a warm and fuzzy feeling that grew very slowly, eventually becoming too much for the heart to contain.

I watched as he removed the saucepan from the heat a little too quickly, then adding the butter and stirring it so that it would melt. He added one egg, beaten, which was alright but seemingly disproportionate to the amount of flour and sugar that he had in his mixing bowl. Did he practice beforehand?

Xander was having problems with the dough sticking to his hands. I got up and gently bumped him aside, flouring the surface so that he'd have an easier time.

"Thanks Angel," he laughed, eyes warm despite the grey that was seemingly cold. "I never knew that worked."

"Hehe," I washed my hands and allowed him to get back to work, glancing at the timer. Hmm, ten more minutes till I'm up! "Did you put more yeast in that? I'm not sure if it's going to rise in time."

"Sure hope it does," Xander was kneading it with ease, which wasn't much of a surprise s-since he's got good arms anyway and mine are like, sticks ;-;

"I tried this before, and the timing was a little over one hour but it's a risk that I'm willing to take."

"Okay," I tip-toed to kiss his cheek and he gave me a look.

"Trying to distract me?" Xander raised a brow and I laughed, squaring my shoulders.

"You'll be needing a whole lot more concentration than that," I began arranging my ingredients across the counter top, ready to start. "Especially since you're making hot cross buns."

I turned to him with a smile, only to see that he was already looking at me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander could not seem to get the recipe right. He wasn't the kind that was gifted by nature and could achieve the desired outcome of a dish by taste. Following the exact measurements of the recipe displayed on the screen of his smartphone, he attempted to recreate the pastry that he so loved—the one he never seemed to forget the taste of.

Perhaps these many years of remembrance was the bane of his very creation, or his attempt to create to be exact. He slid the tray out of the oven and examined their appearance. It was...okay. They didn't look perfect. In fact, they looked far from what he'd be given on that snowy Christmas evening.

He placed the tray on a cooling rack and cut a portion of the buns, noting its sticky texture. A fair start. One bite (he burned his tongue) was enough for him to know that he wasn't even close.

"That's not how it tastes like."

Xander frowned and glanced at the recipe on his smartphone. He did everything just as how Rose had told him to do.

Could it be that he'd forgotten how it tasted? The prospect was foolish to consider. He'd only had them last week. Back then on the first day of high school—years after he'd met the angel—a single bite was enough for him to remember.

He could never forget.

"Again."

Xander placed the second batch of hot cross buns in an air-tight container before starting on his next.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The doorbell rang just when I was about to start plating my pasta. Giselle bounced out of her seat and dropped her pencil on the floor.

"Who's that?" She picked it up before staring at my pasta. "Who's that?"

"It's Rose and the rest!" I pointed to the intercom. "Can you open the gate for them, Giselle? It's the button that you always press."

Xander's sister tottered to the control panel and closed her eyes before feeling her way to the correct button. I turned to my husband, who had yet to start on his glaze for the buns.

"Xan! I'm almost done with mine," I whispered to the only other contestant. "Do you need help with the glaze?"

Xander looked at me as though I had popped three heads. "Angel, people don't usually offer help to their opponents during a competition."

I blinked.

"O-oh. Right."

"Unless you want me to win?"

His signature smirk surfaced and I had to look away because Xander was somehow always an expert at embarrassing me.

"Ooh, something smells real good!" I could hear Hansel's voice all the way from the front door and figured that he'd come with something for Giselle. "And, uh, I got you something I saw the other day. It's an electronic rubber. Like, it erases stuff for you at lightning speed."

Yay, I was correct!

"Hello dears," Rose was the first to come into the kitchen with what seemed like a bottle of champagne. "Do you need help setting the table? Joe and I can help. Shea wants to know where Berry's food is, by the way."

I directed her to the storage room on the left of the hallway while Xander showed Joe where the utensils were so that he could help set the table. Plating the pasta wasn't too difficult, so I decided to check on my husband's pastry to see how he was doing. It didn't rise very much (since an hour is barely enough to make a decent batch of hot cross buns) but they were already in the oven and I had to admit, they smelled really good.

"Is the glazing okay?"

Xander dipped a teaspoon into the mixture and held it out for me to taste. "Expert's opinion?"

"Mm! It's really good," I nodded, slightly taken aback by how accurate it was. "I'm...actually surprised! Haha."

He smirked in return. "I have my secrets."

I left him to glaze the hot cross buns, checking on Giselle who was occupied with seating our guest judges.

"No! Don't sit there—yes, yes sit there. Okay, put on the blindfold!" Wait, there were blindfolds? I surveyed the dining table and indeed there were. B-but that means presentation doesn't count! My plating was useless!

The blindfolds, I discovered, were in fact slips of crepe paper that Shea had brought just to make things interesting.

"If presentation counts, then Xander wouldn't stand a chance would he?" My youngest sister wriggled her brows with a cunning smile. My own sibling wants me to lose! So mean!

"Well," I protested lightly, "e-even if it doesn't, I'll still win."

Giselle bolted to the kitchen as soon as everyone was seated, calling out that Xander had four minutes 'on the clock' and better be ready to serve 'a-s-a-p'.

"Chocolate Chip! Start bringing the plates? I will go sit and tell everyone to put on their blindfolds but I will close my eyes I promise," she talked really fast, unable to contain her excitement. She also didn't seem to know where to look, because her eyes kept going everywhere—something that never really crossed her mind for the past couple of years: where to look.

"Okay! You get going," I propelled her in the general direction of the table before returning to the kitchen and getting the plates of pasta ready. "Xandie and I will come soon."

"Okay."

By the time all of us were seated at the table (my husband took one glance at my pasta and held up his hands in defeat, for some reason), the judges had tasted both our dishes and were whispering among themselves. I found it fairly amusing to watch my family grope around the table for their utensils and messily spooning the food into their mouths with an occasional 'where did the food go? Oh it's on my lap'.

"Is everyone ready to vote?" I asked nervously after having waited for a good five minutes or so for everyone to settle down. !!! This is more nerve-wrecking than I thought it would be...

"Have you two tried your own creations?" Rose asked the air (everyone was still blindfolded, so she didn't quite know where the two of us were seated).

"Not yet," Xander reached across the dining table to grab a bun and hand it to me. "You try first."

I promptly exchanged a forkful of pasta with the bun before eagerly biting into it.

"Ohm," I blinked, still chewing. "Ih...ih achually 'astes wike mine." The texture of the bun was unusually chewy and a little tough on the sides, but overall, the spice and sweetness was pretty accurate!

Xander appeared really sceptical for some reason, and proceeded to take the bun from my hands after trying my pasta (and commenting that it was heavenly as usual). He bit into it and chewed slowly.

Then, he frowned.

"What's wrong?" I asked, worried all of a sudden. The tone in my voice seemed to concern the rest of the table as well, since they proceeded to take off their blindfolds to check if everything was alright.

"Are you alright, Xander?"

"Feeling unwell?"

"Should I call a doctor?"

"You're a doctor, Joe!"

"Oh right."

Everyone stared anxiously at my husband until he swallowed and began to speak.

"It's close...but," he turned to me with an expression that was hard to decipher. "It's not."

"Eh? But it is," I paused, unsure as to what he was referring to. Rose was quick to comfort Xander by assuring him that it was a good effort, and that it was a very hard decision to make. Giselle began the vote by choosing the hot cross buns and everyone took turns by going round the table. Apparently, the competition was an extremely close one.

In all honesty, I didn't know what the point of it was. It didn't matter if either one of us had won (w-well, maybe if Xander had, because who knows what he has up that sleeve of his!) because all that mattered was the time we spent together.

That's it really.

I think that's the point of us being married.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Sir," piped Evans between mouthfuls of hot cross bun. "I can't tell if you're trying to make us live a healthy lifestyle or not."

Class 3A was instructed to gather at the bleachers after ten minutes of rest from the usual three rounds across the field; and they found themselves staring at an air-tight box filled with what they deemed were unsafe hot cross buns.

Evans was the first to risk his life.

"One minute we're doing our running and the next we're stuffing ourselves with pastries."

"Just eat it," their gym instructor snapped. "Treat it as breakfast. I've been told that kids don't eat that nowadays."

Nguyen nibbled on the portion that Liz had split to share between the two of them. She made a face. "It's a little too sweet."

"I like it though," Liz shrugged. "But maybe that's because I've got a sweet tooth."

"Mine's a little bland," Finn chewed slowly, staring at the bun. "And since when did you bake, Mr. Jaxon?"

Xander eyed his students warily. He had snuck out of bed at three in the morning to test one more batch of hot cross buns, and they didn't exactly do too well.

"Since now," he replied flatly. "So, what's the problem? Consistency?"

Shin had a ton of things to say (it's too tough, I think you could afford to put less sugar, maybe you could knead it a little longer, it isn't fluffy like it should be, the glazing has no purpose since it has no flavor) but chose to remain quiet since he was too shy to do so.

Everyone else thought that it was ultimately just food and food was all good and the same anyway, so.

Xander sighed. "I just can't seem to get it right."

"Don't worry sir, you just don't have to bake ever again!" Evans reasoned cheerfully, to which Finn flicked his forehead. "Ow!"

Nguyen took another bite of her bun. "What is it that you can't get right, sir?"

"The taste," their instructor admitted almost immediately. "It's off from the one I always eat. The one I like."

The girl paused to think, chewing slowly as she did so.

"Then maybe you don't actually like the pastry," she remarked off-handedly. "You just like the person who made it."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Eehh? No way!"

Xander won by a bare margin—one vote. Although I wasn't too sure if this was just a ploy by my family members to give my husband a win, I couldn't help but feel a teeny bit upset that my pasta wasn't as well-liked.

"Your pasta was amazing," Shea reassured me at the front door, as they were leaving. "It's just that some of us were looking for something sweet today." She, again, did this strange thing with her eyebrows and by then I was full of suspicion. H-hey...that's not fair!

Giselle was finishing up the leftovers all by herself at the dining table, while Xander and I headed back to the kitchen for clean-up.

"So...I get to ask for anything?"

He began as soon as we were out of earshot and I knew from that playful smirk on his face that this wasn't going to end well.

"Well, sure, but. I-it has to be consensual," I brought out the trays and placed them by the sink, about to take my apron off when I felt arms around my waist.

"Okay," he laughed low, just beside my ear. "You're going to be the one making hot cross buns for me. For the rest of my life."

I blinked, turning around.

"W-wait. That's it?"

Xander frowned. "What do you mean 'that's it'? Those tasted terrible. I wouldn't be able to eat them for a week, save the rest of my life."

"So you want me to make them?" I raised a brow, punching him on his shoulder. "Well, that's not hard. I was going to do that without you asking me to, so."

"Mhm." He hugged me tighter.

"Okay now take this rag and clean the island."

*

That night, we decided to take a bubble bath together before bed. It was a luxury because water bills were expensive and showers were our go-to most of the time. I was slipping on my comfy over-sized sweater and getting ready for bed when I asked my husband—quite suddenly, but as a casual question sort of thing—if that was really all he wanted. Quite frankly, I shouldn't have. Knowing him.

"You asked?" Uh oh.

"U-um, I—"

I didn't mean to!

He smirked, sitting on the edge of our bed.

"Kneel down?"