“I know.” She dumps more flour onto the counter. “But the pies are for Thanksgiving. I want to make them, and you’re helping.”
Callum walks into the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee. “Helping with what?”
“Pie.” Tania points to an apron hanging on the hook. “Put that on.”
He stares at it, then looks back at her. “I don’t bake.”
“You do now.” She tosses him the apron.
He catches it one-handed, grinning. “I love it when you’re bossy.”
Tania winks at him.
She tosses me the other apron, and both Callum and I resign ourselves to baking Thanksgiving desserts.
We’re standing at the counter, three of us shoulder to shoulder, and Tania’s already mixing butter and flour with her hands.
“Apple and pumpkin,” she announces. “Two of each. So we need four crusts.”
“Four pies?” I ask. “Who will be at dinner? I thought it was you, Ben, your mom, and the three of us.”
Tania looks up. “Six people. Four pies.”
“That’s a lot of pies for six people.”
Callum leans against the counter. “I could eat a whole pie.”
“See?” Tania gestures at him with the wooden spoon. “And Ben will want leftovers. We will want leftovers. That’s why it’s always good to make extra. It’s better to have too much than not enough.”
Callum and I exchange a look.
I let out a small laugh. “Four pies it is.”
Callum picks up the bag of flour. “How hard can it be?”
“Don’t!” I try to grab it from him.
Too late. He dumps half the bag onto the counter, and there’s a white cloud everywhere. I cough. Tania shrieks and covers her face.
When the air clears, we’re all covered.
Callum’s hair. My shirt. Tania’s forearms.
She stares at him, then starts laughing. “Oh my God.”
Callum looks down at himself, covered head to toe in white powder. He brushes at his shirt, making it worse. But he’s smiling.
I’m trying to wipe flour off my face, but it’s everywhere. “We need to clean this up before we do anything else.”
Tania’s already grabbing paper towels. “The counter first. Then we can start over.”
I grab the vacuum.
We spend the next five minutes cleaning up and wiping down surfaces. Callum shakes flour out of his hair over the sink. I brush off my shirt and arms. Tania damps a towel and wipes the counter until it’s clean again.
“Okay.” She surveys the damage. “New rule. I measure the flour.”
Callum holds up both hands. “I’m not going to argue with that.”
