“I'd love to,” I say. “Just five more minutes.”
He groans theatrically but steps aside so I can scoop the dough. As I drop rough mounds onto the tray, Liam watches my movements closely.
“You’re very precise,” he says quietly.
"Lots of practice," I say, sliding the tray into the oven. "Stress-baking will do that. You get precise or you waste ingredients."
Felix counts it off on his fingers. “Ballet, law, baking,” he says. "You are definitely full of surprises, Ms. Quinn."
I snort. “And you stock your pantry like you're expecting a baking competition."
Felix nudges my hip with his. "We got all inspired after last year's baking festival," he admits. "Just never made it past stocking the pantry.."
Liam gives a tiny shrug. “But now that we have the right teacher…” he adds with a wink.
Heat rises to my face and I glance away quickly. Not sure how to respond to that, so I busy myself setting the timer and wiping batter off the counter before it hardens.
* * *
The timer dings.
I open the oven and a wave of heat rolls out, carrying with it a blast of vanilla, butter, and melting chocolate. Felix’s eyes almost roll back, Liam and even Silas step closer with a slight drool.
I pull the tray out and set it on the stove. The scones are golden around the edges, cranberries bleeding just a little color, chocolate chips shiny and soft.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing a towel. “Better to let them cool for at least—”
“Hot hot hot—ow.” Felix already has one halfway off the tray with his bare fingers. He jerks his hand back, shaking it. “Ow.”
But then, he wraps it around a towel and snags it, blowing on it frantically. “Oh my god,” he says, eyes closing as he inhales.
A startled laugh escapes me. Guess waiting's a no-go.
Silas steps in, picking up a napkin from the counter and pressing it into his chest. “Use that before you drip chocolate everywhere,” he says, then reaches past him to take a scone of his own, using another napkin.
He blows on it once, twice… seven times, then takes a careful bite.
He makes a sound that's almost a moan, then visibly reins himself in, clearing his throat. "Ahem, they're… decent."
From him, that’s a hell of a compliment.
I glance at Liam, who's just finished blowing on his. He takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and his expression softens. "Texture's perfect," he breathes. "Crisp edge, soft middle. These are really good."
I finally grab one for myself with a napkin. The bottom has a clean, firm bake, and the top gives a little when I press it. I break off a piece so the steam can escape, blow on it for a few seconds, then take a bite. The cranberry pops tart against the melted chocolate.
Hmm. Not bad at all, indeed.
We fall into eating, all four of us perched around the island in various stages of pajamas. The storm hisses at the windows, but in here it’s just the soft churn of the oven fan and the delicious smell of pastries.
Felix licks a bit of chocolate off his thumb. “My little sister would love these,” he says suddenly, tone softer. “She sends me these care packages from her uni sometimes. Cookies, brownies…”
“Do they survive the mail?” I ask.
“Well, they usually don’t… but it's the thought that counts,” Felix says, grinning as he nudges my arm with his elbow. “What about you though, any siblings mailing you sweets?”
“Nope, I'm an only child.” I wrap my hands around the mug Liam set in front of me. “And my parents were never really the care-package type.”
Felix’s smile falters a little; his knee bumps mine under the island, like a quietthat sucks.
