“It’s not exploding. It’s not even threatening to explode.”
“It’s just… baking.” Twobble looked on approvingly.
The pastry gave one last soft rise and settled.
Done.
“Now, you just need to replicate it twenty more times.”
I let out a breath and laughed, the sound bubbling up before I could stop it.
“I did it,” I said, half-disbelieving. “I actually did it.”
Twobble blinked at me, then at the pastry, then back at me.
“You did it,” he said. “Now, maybe I should try it out.”
I grabbed his little hands and twirled Twobble around. “It didn’t explode!”
“It didn’t explode!” he repeated, eyeing it.
“I made a real pastry!”
“You made a real—” He stopped suddenly, his grin freezing on his face as he looked over my shoulder.
I was still smiling in all of my euphoria.
“I made a real pastry with lavender and cream cheese and—what?”
Twobble didn’t answer, but his eyes widened, and he just stared over my shoulder. It almost looked like his eyes were about to fall out and roll away.
“Twobble,” I said slowly. “Why are you making that face?”
He pointed behind me, and I turned very slowly.
At first, I didn’t see it.
The pastry sat there on the counter, golden and perfect, looking exactly like something displayed in a bakery window.
But as I narrowed my eyes, a tiny flicker appeared faintly at the top of the crust.
“Uh-oh.” Twobble grimaced as another flicker bounded to life.
“Oh, no.” And with that, a small, cheerful flame popped up like it had been waiting for its moment.
“This isn’t good.”
The flame grew.
“No, it’s not,” I said, reaching for anything to snuff it out.
The pastry, my beautiful, perfect, unexploded pastry, was now very much on fire.
The flame wavered gently at the top of the pastry, not wild or frantic, just… present, as if it had every right to be there.
I stared at it, wand still raised, trying to decide if this counted as success or a delayed disaster.
“Well,” Twobble said slowly, rocking back on his heels as he squinted at it. “It’s not exploding.”
