They worked around each other in tandem, darting between counters and cupboards. Each reached for spoons, bowls, and spices, and the kitchen seemed to hum along to their rhythm, opening drawers as they needed, or sliding them closed when they were done. At one point, their synchronized pattern faltered, and their hands both grabbed the salt at the same time.
Eliza jerked hers back as if the jar had scorched her.
Flour canisters drifted closer, Puffcake fluttered around doing preliminary taste-tests, and the oven door swung open wide no sooner than when the timer dinged. She placed the steaming puffcakes down on the counter, leaving them to cool.
“They’re done!” Eliza piped up, placing the plate of puffcakes in the center of the island.
They each took a bite, and the warm icing melted on Eliza’s tongue, the orange and nutmeg notes blending in the most perfect harmony. She couldn’t help but moan her delight as she took another bite, thoroughly pleased with herself. She’d followed the rules on the recipe card just enough to honor the recipe, and broken other rules where it counted.
Lachlan stole a glance at her, and a blush settled on her cheeks. “Sorry,” she washed the remnants of the first cake down with a glass of milk. He laughed, looking at Puffcake next, who was vigorously lapping up his third pastry like a dog.
“Well, how do you like them?” she asked Lachlan eagerly. If she was going to share his company until this weather blew over, he would at least need to enjoy her baking.
“Oh, they’re splendid—uh …” he gulped, looking down at his plate. “You know, I just realized that you never gave me your name.”
“Eliza,” she said. “Eliza Snow.”
“So, Lachlan Hollis gets snowed in with Eliza Snow.” A slow smile spread across his face, softening the edges of his features. He was handsome. The kind of handsome that snuck up on you when he wasn’t busy being smug, or ruining week-long solo trips.
“Don’t forget Puffcake,” she added.
“Right. How could I ever forget?”
“Help yourself to at least one more puffcake,” she said. “I’ll need another t-shirt to sleep in tonight, if that’s okay.”
Her apron, and somehow, her clothes underneath, were both speckled with sugar. She was always a messy baker, a habit from childhood that even her nan couldn’t break.
Puffcake reclined backwards on the windowsill and blew out a breath of powdered sugar. Clearly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.
“Don’t get me wrong, the puffcakes are great,” Lachlan rose from his seat, licking the icing from his fingers. “But I was preparing a salad to go with the pizza I’m about to put in the oven.”
Eliza snorted. “Good luck finding anything else in this kitchen other than baking supplies.” Lachlan opened the freezer and pulled out a grocery bag with a frozen pepperoni pizza. She snarled at the sight. “Don’t tell me you brought that here.”
“I brought survival food. And it’s a good thing I did because we’d be absolutely famished.” His eyes cut to the window and the blizzard beyond it, to prove his point.
“What you call an emergency, I call a proper dog’s breakfast.”
“C’mon, Snow.” He smiled, already reaching for a pan. “We’re in the middle of a snowstorm. Now’s not the time for refined dining. And it’s not like we can pop by any of the restaurants here.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Still. Even during desperate times, I have standards.”
“Well, good for you. Suppose you’ve earned a biscuit for all your poshness.” He slid the ready meal into the oven and set a timer on his mobile.
A thunderousbangrattled the biscuit jars on the countertop. Smoke billowed from the oven, and the house filled with the distinct scent of charred food.
Lachlan stared. Eliza smugly crossed her arms over her chest. “Guess the house has standards, too.”
The oven door clattered open and spat the burnt pizza out across the kitchen. Lachlan ran his hands through his hair, defeated. “Fine,” he breathed out. “Another puffcake it is, then.”
Eliza stood at the kitchen counter cradling the tin full of recipes. The metal was cool beneath her touch, and the lid squeaked as she opened it. She grazed over each of the hand-written cards, each page smudged with butter stains. A small thrill coursed through her, excited to lose herself in another baking project.
Her fingers lingered over each of the edges, waiting for one recipe to call to her rather than the other way around.
Over in the living room came the faint sound of Lachlan’s breathing. He was fast asleep on the couch with one hand covering his eyes, his chest rising and falling softly. Beneath the kitchen’s windowsill, Puffcake claimed a small mixing bowl as his bed, snoring loudly in a sugar-induced coma. Puffs of smoke billowed from his nostrils.
Then the house stirred. A loud, suddenthumpdisrupted the quiet, causing Eliza to jump. A book had fallen from the baker’s rack behind her, the spine hitting the floor with a solid crack. Eliza bent to pick it up, smoothing her palm over the worn cover the color of absinthe.
She swore the gold title glimmered underneath her fingers:Isadora’s Memory Baking Cookbook.
