She'd commandeered the island as her teaching stage. The counter was buried under flour, all the mixing bowls in the house, kitchen scales, dough blobs in various stages of chaos, and two rolling pins. The windows fogged from the heat, the coffee machine was rolling, and the oven preheating.
Fifi and Mere hunched over their work, sleeves rolled up, hands buried wrist-deep in dough. Fifi's red hair kept escaping her ponytail, curling strands sticking to her cheeks, but she didn't care. She attacked thedough with single-minded gusto, throwing elbows more than technique. Mere, on the other hand, was surgical. Every motion was measured, precise, like she was running a science experiment instead of prepping cinnamon rolls. If there was a gold medal for quiet determination, she'd win it.
Maeve was in her element, apron on, silver streaked auburn hair, so close to the same color as Fifi's, twisted into a messy bun, a wooden spoon stuck in as a hair stick. Her hands flashed between the twins, covering every contingency. "No, remember, when you bake, you weigh your ingredients! Okay, good, now fold, never punch. Use the heel of your palm, see? Like this." Her voice sang through the kitchen, part teacher, part drill sergeant, all witch.
I leaned against the door jamb and soaked it in. This was a dream I hadn't known I had. The girls, my daughters, belonged right here.
Caden was beyond smug. He liked the teamwork. He liked the smell of sugar and the way the twins sounded when they asked silly questions. "If I eat dough as a dragon, will it taste the same?" Fifi asked.
Good question. I'd only ever eaten meat in dragon form.
"Does magic make your food taste better, or is it just that you're a good baker?" Mere pressed.
Maeve shrugged off the question, grinning, and redirected them to the dough.
Huey did his rounds, circling, and when anything edible hit the floor, he was on it before almost gravity finished the job.
Lola perched regally and suspiciously on the sunniest windowsill. Her tail flicked every time Huey got near. Most cats dodged drama, but Lola absolutely bathed in it. If flour got on her fur, she'd pointedly groom until someone groveled and offered her treats.
I was about to join in when I heard my mother's shoes on the tile.
Oh, this was going to be fun, Mother and Maeve.
Mom entered like she owned not just the kitchen, but all of time and space. She wore a crisp teal blouse, her hair swept into a flawless updo, ruby earrings catching the early light. She took the scene in with a single sweep, then her razor-sharp gaze landed on the mountain of dough in front of Fifi.
She pounced. "You're using too much water," she announced. She eyed Maeve, not the twins. "Pie crust needs to be dry, just barely moistened so it binds. That's why yours is always so heavy."
Maeve snorted, not even bothering to hide the eyeroll. "That's why it's flaky, you mean. If you use cold water and enough butter, you can bend the rules."She didn't pause her hands, she yanked Fifi's dough ball out, pressed it flat, and dusted it with flour until it gave up the ghost and looked edible.
Mom tsked. "No, darling, flake comes from technique, not shortcuts. You're over-wetting it. Watch."
She stepped in and stole Mere's dough for a demonstration. The twins watched, eyes bouncing between the two women in a bakers' version of a showdown. A tiny smile started on Mere's face, quickly suppressed. Fifi's eyes twinkled.
Maeve rolled her shoulders. "I've been making pies for longer than you've been on charity committees, Aunt Livia."
"Since infancy? You were a prodigy, of course. Butmyentry won blue ribbons for apple pie at the county fair three years running. You would remember if you were old enough."
Mere blinked, then the grin broke free. "Are you two going to arm wrestle or what?"
Fifi cackled. "My money's on the witch."
Maeve bowed, never missing a beat. "Smart girl. But watch carefully. If the dough gets shaggy, you add just a splash."
Mom fixed her with a gaze as calm as steel. "A splash for amateurs. A sprinkle for those who care about structure."
They squared off. Maeve with the wooden spoon, Mom with a silver one she'd summoned from I-didn't-see-where. The air buzzed.
Caden chuckled.Livia will win. Livia always wins.
Huey settled under the island, waiting for the loser to drop a chunk.
I caught the twins trading glances. Mere leaned away from the battle, but Fifi caught my eye, totally unbothered by the drama.
"Is it always like this?" she stage-whispered.
I smirked. "You should see them during canning season."
At that, the room flared into noise. The oven beeped, Maeve and Mom argued about hydration ratios, Fifi tried to sneak cinnamon into the dry bowl, Maeve let her, and Mere started side-questioning Mom about life spans of witches. Mom obliged, barely missing a beat, then checked her phone, thumb lightning-fast. She scanned the screen, frowned, then slid the phone deep into her pocket.
