Wesley grins and grabs my hand, pulling me along after him into the kitchen. “Just kidding. Pink is perfect on you, of course. Every color is—but pink? Pink is a Maybell color.”
My eyes are slits, and Wesley just laughs.
•••••••
“SUGAR, BUTTER, NUTMEG, SALT,”I order, pointing at the ingredients I measured out. “You’re going to mix that together in the larger bowl. Once it’s thoroughly mixed, add an egg, then mix some more.”
Wesley nods once. “Yes, ma’am.”
I won’t lie, it’s nice to be the one who knows what they’re doing. It’s also nice to watch Wesley doing my bidding.
He pulls an electric mixer out of an upper cabinet with ease, and I’m right back to being jealous. I would’ve needed a chair to get that out.
While Wesley mixes, I dump flour and baking powder into a different bowl. He interrupts, delicately brushing my nose with one knuckle.
“Flour?” I guess, rubbing at it.
“A bruise. You hurt yourself?”
On the door, while imagining him naked. It’s what I deserve. “No,” I reply quickly. “That’s probably just a shadow.”
He looks skeptical as I duck my head and squirm away.
“Add this stuff a little at a time to your bowl,” I instruct, pointing at the flour/baking powder mixture. He’s marginally sloppy for my standards, pouring in too much at a time. I bite my tongue but ultimately can’t help taking over. Technically, Wesleyisfulfilling the terms of the wish; he’s making Violet’s favorite cinnamon-sugar donuts. I’m merely assisting.
“If I can just squeeze in here...” I step in front of him, my back to his chest, commandeering his carton of milk. Wesley frowns, empty hand still raised in the air.
“Shhh.” I pat a fingertip over his lips, feeling them twist up into a smile.
Then I happily return to showing off, stirring the batter like a pro, pouring it into a piping bag. “Like this.” I demonstrate, piping batter into one of the cavities of my donut pan. “You fill it up about halfway.”
“May I?” He reaches.
I quickly pipe a second one (Ilovepiping, it’s so satisfying), then hand it over. Wesley raises the metal nozzle to my cheek and squirts cold batter directly onto my skin. One dollop. Two dollops. One long, curving dollop.
“It’s a smiley face,” he says, gleeful.
I grab his piping bag. “That’s how you lose your privileges.”
“Aw.” He towels off my cheek as I make quick work of the rest of the pan. “Turn that frown upside down.”
I try to glare at him, unsuccessfully.
He’s all innocence. “Now what?”
“Oven. We’ll set a timer for eight minutes, but it might only need seven. And then...” I drift off. He’s using leftover batter to doodle aWon top of the pan. I put him to work preparing thetopping: one bowl of melted butter, another of cinnamon and sugar.
“Now what?” he asks again once the pan’s in the oven and the timer’s been set.
“Trust fall!” I cry, and fall back. His sturdy arm encircles my waist well before I hit the ground, of course.
“Don’t do that! I was all the way over there!”
I cackle. “I’m pretty sure that one was on Violet’s list.Wish number five: Do a trust fall.”
“You could have actually fallen!”
“Could I have, though?”
