I slipped the ring onto my littlest finger for safekeeping where it hovered over my knuckle.
Just then, the door slipped open, and the two women stepped inside deep into a fit of giggles. My gaze met Sydney’s whose expression mirrored my astonishment. My sister set the considerably lighter bottle of whiskey on the table before tugging Davina into the kitchen.
“Is the fire still hot?” Lizzie asked Mum.
“Yes. Why dearest?”
“We’re making fairy cakes!” she announced proudly.
Davina’s brow reflected her own confusion and bemusement when she glanced questioningly at me.
“You’re making fairy cakes?” I asked.
“Dav wants to learn to make them,” Lizzie said.
“Dav?”
“She gave me permission. Says all her siblings call her Dav. She makes you call her by her full name, so clearly she likes me best,” my sister said with a smugness that only drink could provide.
Davina had clearly imbibed less. She was only a little bubblier than usual, not delivering drunken proclamations.
“Have someone help you with the fire? You’ve had too much to drink to be mucking about over there,” I cautioned.
“Spoilsport,” Lizzie called back, digging through her pantry with Davina at her side. An arm creeped out from behind the door and plopped a flour cannister into Davina’s arms. She was startled but held on. Sugar followed. Then a few other things I couldn’t identify. Slowly, Davina was nearly obstructed from view by ingredients.
Eventually, my sister stepped away from the pantry and dragged my wife to the counter. “Set those down, we need bowls.” Davina seemed slightly overwhelmed by Lizzie’s enthusiasm but washed up before taking Lizzie’s proffered apron.
I made my way to her side. “What kind of fairy cakes are we making?”
Davina opened her mouth to reply, but Lizzie beat her to it. “None of your business. Go help my husband rearrange some of the children so you and your friends have a place to sleep tonight.”
“Lizzie…”
“Christopher…” she retorted in that way that only my sisters had. Davina must have noted the trend because she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
I shook away Lizzie’s scolding and caught Davina’s hand in mine. “Are you well? You must be tired.”
“No, I want to learn to make those little cake things you like so much,” she teased.
“I’ve been reliably informed that they’re called fairy cakes. But send me a signal if you wish for a rescue.”
“What sort of signal?”
Unthinkingly, I pressed another kiss to her temple. That was thrice now that my lips acted without permission. It was also the third time she leaned in to my touch and that realization left me warmer than any whiskey. “You’ll think of something. I have faith.”
“Begone you.” Lizzie shooed me out of the kitchen.
I spared a desperate glance at my mother who nodded her willingness to watch them around the fire before I went to help Sydney with the children.
We returned downstairs nearly an hour later after many bedtime stories to the sight of my mother, my sister, and my not-a-wife laughing around the whiskey bottle in the moonlight. It was clear that most of it had gone to Lizzie, but given how infrequently my sister enjoyed a few minutes for herself, I couldn’t blame her. On a plate in the center of them were seven ramekins filled with what were presumably fairy cakes.
In between giggles, Davina caught sight of us and shot up from her seat. She quickly caught my arm and tugged me to sit beside her. I was beginning to adore the way she did that, dragging me about without a hint of concern that I may not follow.
She shoved me down in the seat, then plucked a ramekin off the plate. She dropped it in front of me, fingers dancing away the residual warmth. I caught her hand in mine and blew across the scorched digits. A few owlish blinks later, she settled beside me,not pulling her hand away. Pushing my luck, I kissed the tips of her fingers before releasing them.
“You have to try the cake thing.”
I felt the smile inching across my face. “I told you, someone much smarter than me informed me that they are called fairy cakes.”
