“Is that so?”
She nodded, the memory of her nan ebbing away the moment of anxiety due to the cookbook’s presence. “Right here, in this gingerbread house.”
“Well, I know I’m nothing like the Snows, but I hope my efforts are acknowledged.”
She smiled. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Besides, it’s the thought that counts.”
Puffcake fluttered over to her, beckoning her to take her seat at the round table. She sat, sipping her coffee, and Puffcake continued to help Lachlan bring the bottle of syrup and napkins over to the table.
She wondered what memory they were about to experience. Her fingers itched to get a hold of the recipe, to see what the title of the dish was, if she could at least have an idea as to what she was about to witness.
“What’s the name of the pancake recipe?” she asked. “Each recipe in this cookbook has aninterestingname.”
Lachlan glanced at the book. “Holly Jolly Hotcakes. Festive, huh?”
“Festive,” she repeated. It didn’t sound like one of the more solemn recipes, likeSilent Night SouffléorBarren Cradle Bake.
Lachlan lit the taper candles in front of her before placing her plate in front of her. They were perfectly round and fluffy, still steaming from the hot frying pan.
Seems Lachlanwasgood at cooking one thing. She smiled to herself, thankful that it waspancakes, of all things. She could certainly get used to this. She drizzled the hot syrup on top and sliced off a piece, eager to try it. Then she stopped herself, remembering the magic attached to the dessert.
Bracing herself, she popped it into her mouth.
She closed her eyes, breathing in the gingerbread house. Her hesitation then gave away to savoring, and then to bliss. She closed her eyes, and there, she saw her. Her nan, standing inthe gingerbread house in her apron, her hair an icing white. The whisk was stirring itself as she poured buttermilk into a measuring cup, her crystal blue eyes aglow the way they always were when she was baking something.
Her nan dropped a bit of icing on her shirt, just shy of where the apron didn’t cover, and she giggled to herself.
Eliza opened her eyes. They were wet with tears. She remembered that laugh. It was good to hear it again.
It wasn’t a memory of Isadora’s, but of her own. It hadn’t been the magic that made her remember. No, it was the nostalgia of the flavors. They’d just … taken her back.
She wished she could’ve stayed there with her a little longer.
Instead, she took a second bite of her pancake. Then a third and fourth, until the entire thing was gone. The memories came flooding back to her, not quite as strong as the first one, but they were there all the same.
Lachlan’s laugh broke the silence. He nodded to the empty plate. “I take it that I met your standards?”
Eliza smiled back. “In more ways than one. Thank you for that.”
She rose to take her plate to the sink, but Lachlan stopped her, coming over to take it for her. “No, please. Let me.” He placed a kiss on her cheek before returning back to his seat. “This is for all the times this past week you’ve served me.”
“Wasn’t that the deal?” she asked. “I serve you sweets if you keep quiet?”
“It was. Turns out you liked my presence more than you let on.”
“Just a little bit.”
She was curious, now, about the cookbook. So she reached over for it and scanned the particular ingredients. It was weird. This recipe was completely normal, void of any exact phrasing, measurements, or extremely particular directions that wouldwarrant it to be a magical recipe. It was just plain old American pancakes.
So why had the memory felt so strong, so alive? Was that just the magic of the memory, how strongly connected she felt to this dessert that it brought her back to another time, another place, entirely her own?
And what about Lachlan? Why had this cookbook revealed itself to him when it did? Whythisrecipe? It was like the house knew that pancakes were her favorite, and it’d saved them specifically for this moment.
“You’re quiet,” Lachlan sipped from his cocoa with ease.
“Yeah,” she admitted, looking out the window. The sun was pouring in through the sugar-spun glass, casting an array of colors throughout the kitchen.
Why was she so in her head about all this? It was Christmas Eve. It was supposed to be a happy day. One she planned to spend with Lachlan and Puffcake, binge-watching happy Christmas movies.
