“You laugh, but you’ve never seen me burn toast three times in a row before,” I quipped, making my way to Cora.
Mellie and Adelaide fell into giggles as they followed me to the neighboring station and we all settled in, measuring ingredients, creaming together butter and sugar, portioning out dough, and shaping our respective cookies.
Cora was in the best mood I had seen her in yet, clearly inher element as she talked me through the recipe. She was a patient teacher, explaining the steps clearly and sharing why each was important. I was learning more about baking in one afternoon than I had learned in my entire life.
“You know, Cora,” Adelaide spoke up as she shaped their dough into small crescents and placed them on a baking sheet, “you really should offer some baking classes at the café. You’re a natural teacher!”
Cora blushed, ducking her head. “Do you think so?”
Mel nodded in agreement. “Absolutely. You could start with a class on your famous cranberry scones. God, I could go for one of those right about now.”
I laughed. “They’re right, Cora. This is what you love and you’re so good at it!”
“Thank you. That’s really nice. I’ll think about it.”
“If you do decide to teach some classes, I would love to host one here in our kitchens,” Queen Isobel chimed in, approaching our table. “I couldn’t help but overhear and I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Cora stopped in her tracks, mouth agape and face beet red. “Th-thank you, Your Majesty,” she stuttered.
“You’re quite welcome, darling. Don’t forget what you’re good at and don’t let anyone dull your shine,” the queen said, giving Cora a wink as she continued to the next station. I noticed as she walked away that Cora’s back was a bit straighter, her head held just a bit higher.
When all of the cookies, bread, and cake were out of the oven, we gathered back around the island for a quick taste test.
I was proud that Cora’s and my Linzer cookies came out beautifully, raspberry jam shining in the center of each. Adelaide and Mellie’s almond crescents were also perfect: buttery, a bit crumbly, and coated in powdered sugar.
Next up was the gingerbread cake. Queen Isobel passedeach of us a small slice on delicate white plates. I took a bite of the rich, dark cake.
“And who made this one?” Queen Isobel asked.
“I did,” Renata quickly claimed.
“Hmm.” Queen Isobel slowly chewed, brows slightly furrowed. “There is something different about this and I can’t place my finger on it. What did you add to the recipe?”
My arms and torso started to itch as I swallowed the last bite of my piece. That’s when it hit me that I knew exactly what was “different” about the cake.
“...banana,” I whispered.
“What was that, Birdie?” Queen Isobel asked.
“It’s banana,” I said, fumbling to untie my apron.
“Oh my God, Birdie. Aren’t you allergic to bananas?” Adelaide said from beside me.
My stomach rolled and I felt like I was going to be ill. My eyes darted around the room, looking for the nearest exit. I needed to find a bathroom immediately.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, but can you excuse me?” I ran out the nearest door and down the hall to find a bathroom, praying to every God I knew that I could find one before I got sick.
I found a small powder room a few doors down and was blessedly able to close the door behind me and make it to the toilet before the first wave of vomit hit.
I rested my head against the toilet, thankful for the cool porcelain doing wonders for my on-fire skin. My entire body felt like it was expanding, and my stomach felt like the bowels of hell had taken up residency inside of me.
Another wave of vomit came barreling out of me as I heard people talking outside the door.
God, in all of your mercy, please don’t let anyone of importance be standing outside that door hearing me release everything I’ve eaten today.
“Birdie?” Oliver asked as he knocked on the door.
Damn it to hell.
