Page 60 of Twisted Princess

“What can I do, chef?” I tease, grazing her hip with my fingertips as she assigns Gabby the task of whisking the eggs.

Mel’s breath catches at the subtle contact, and her eyes darken as they meet mine. “Measure out two cups of flour and put it in this bowl?”

She hands me the glass dish, and I take it with a smile.

“Yes, chef,” I joke, drawing a soft laugh from her that fills the space like a sweet song.

“I help!” Gabby insists, setting aside her partially whisked eggs and grabbing the bag of flour.

The corner rips, and it topples off the counter, sending a white cloud into the air. I barely snag the heavy parchment package before it can hit the ground.

“Oops,” she says, staring at the mess she’s made as the white powder settles on the counter.

Mel covers her lips in horror, her eyes growing round as she looks at me apologetically. But all I can do is laugh.

“Alright,” I say, wrapping an arm around Gabby’s waist and hoisting her up so she has full access to the counter. “Show me how to mix this stuff.”

Making pancakes proves to be a very messy and laugh-inducing affair. But Gabby’s a more than enthusiastic helper, and she knows what she’s doing well enough that, even as a toddler, she doesn’t need much correction from Mel.

By the time the batter’s mixed and sitting in a bowl next to the stove, Gabby’s face is caked with several streaks of it, and her hair is almost gray with the remnants of flour.

We leave Mel to pan-fry the sugar-rich breakfast batter while Gabby and I set the table. In no time, the space is filled with the mouthwatering scent of freshly cooked pancakes and bacon.

I help Gabby settle onto her chair, which she insisted on having all to herself today. And Mel sets a stack of pancakes at the center.

“You have had pancakes before, right?” she asks as she transfers the top pancake to Gabby’s plate, then two to the plates for Mel and me.

“Uh…” Why do I get the sense that I’ve missed some sacred rite of passage if I say no?

Mel’s eyes flash up to mine, her hands pausing mid-task.

“Am I banned from breakfast if I haven’t?” I joke.

Mel gasps in horror. “Do you hear that, Gabby? Gleb’s never had pancakes before.”

“You’re in for a treat,” the little girl says sagely.

And I don’t doubt her. “So, how do I eat these?” I ask, settling into the chair across from them—the seat I always choose instinctually so I can keep one eye on the front door.

Gabby walks me through the process as Mel prepares Gabby’s pancakes for her—first, the butter, spread across the golden-brown surface, followed by a light dusting of powdered sugar. Fruit comes next, whatever berries I prefer most—or a mix if I’m feeling “advernchus,” as Gabby puts it.

I can’t help but share a smile with Mel at the precocious little girl’s attempt to say “adventurous.”

Finally, it’s time to take my first bite, and I’m intensely aware of the two girls watching closely to gauge my reaction. Rich, fluffy sweetness bursts across my tongue, the mix of sticky and perfectly moist cake mingling with fresh berries.

“Mm,” I hum, chewing to help keep my smile under control.

The stakes never felt so high as both girls hold a collective breath, waiting for my stamp of approval.

“I can see why that’s your favorite breakfast,” I acknowledge, solemnly meeting Gabby’s eyes.

A smile bursts across her face, her grin broad enough to light up the room. And now that she’s confirmed I have good taste, she happily digs into her own meal. Mel and I share a glance, and her smile holds a hundred secrets as she, too, turns her attention to her plate.

You know it’s a good breakfast when the only sound at the table is silverware against plates. And the stack of pancakes quickly diminishes as I finish off nearly half all by myself. It's not the healthiest of meals, but I can see why Mel said pancakes are good for the soul.

As our bellies fill, we start to slow down. And the sign that our meal has come to an end happens when Gabby climbs into her mother’s lap, looking sleepy.

“Shall we clean you up?” Mel suggests, cupping her daughter’s chin so she can wipe the purple berry juice from around her lips. “I think we might need to give you a bath with all that flour in your hair.”

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