Page 46 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“Moon and stars,” I mutter, rushing forward to help her. I yank the oven door open and instantly recoil as a fresh wave of smoke pours forth, stinging my eyes. Squinting and coughing, I grab the oven mitts and pull out the tray of cupcakes, burned so thoroughly they’re little more than blackened lumps.
“I’m sorry,” Isobel chokes out, eyes watering from the smoke as we wave our towels together to clear the air. “I don’t know what happened!”
“Those were meant to be cupcakes, correct?”Errol drawls from the doorway.“Or were we aiming for charcoal briquettes this time?”
Ignoring the feline’s sarcasm, I push the window open, urging the smoke to go outside. Just as I turn back to dispose of the tragic pastries, the cupcakes suddenly erupt in a cloud of gray ash, exploding upward like tiny volcanic eruptions.
Isobel squeaks, ducking behind me, and Errol yowls indignantly as the fine dust settles over us all, coating everything, including the outraged cat, in a layer of burnt cupcake ash.
Still coughing, I glance around the kitchen. Aside from the smoke, thankfully nothing seems to be on fire as Errol suggested. “Well,” I say dryly, brushing the soot from my shoulders, “that could have been worse.”
“Oh, Lyrion, I’m completely hopeless.” Shoulders sagging, Isobel drops her head into her hands. “At this rate, I’ll never stand a chance at the spring festival baking competition.”
Something twists uncomfortably in my chest at the defeat in her voice. I cup her chin, brushing my thumb over her cheek to remove a smudge of ash. “You’re being too hard on yourself. This was just a setback, not a disaster.”
“Not a disaster?”Errol gives me an incredulous look.“In case you didn’t notice, my house nearly burned down.”
I stop short of rolling my eyes.“It was just a bit of smoke, Errol.”I don’t bother correcting the cat that it’s technicallymy housebecause as far as he’s concerned, everything belongs to him.
“This baking competition is a terrible idea,”he says as he grooms his soot-covered fur with exaggerated disgust.“I want to support Isobel, but I worry for her safety. It’s not good to inhale so much smoke, and the kitchen nearly caught on fire. Perhapswe can convince her to compete in something less dangerous, like basket-weaving or some such.”
“This is important to her,”I stress.
“What’s he saying?” Isobel asks, having noticed my gaze fixed upon Errol. “Is he alright?”
“Barely,”the cat mutters, flicking his tail.“As much as I loathe water, I might need you to draw me a bath, Lyrion, if I can’t get this ash out of my coat.”
“Stop being so dramatic, Errol.”
“Dramatic?”Errol’s head jerks up. “I am no such thing.”
I turn to Isobel. “He’s fine. And he’s saying he agrees. This wasn’t so bad.”
He flicks his tail in agitation.“I didn’t say that.”
Isobel rushes over to him, gathering him in her arms and stroking his fur. “Oh, Errol, you poor thing. Look at all this ash. Don’t worry, I’ll brush it out for you later.”
As she coos over him, he lifts his head over her shoulder, narrowing his eyes at me.“I am not dramatic. I’m cautious. There’s a difference.”
I purse my lips.
Isobel sets him on the counter and turns back to me. “Maybe I misread something? Can you please look at the recipe with me to check?”
She grabs the recipe parchment from the counter, softly biting her lower lip as she studies it intensely. We lean over it together, my heart quickening at her closeness as our shoulders brush.
Isobel reads out the ingredients and I recognize the error right away.
“Here,” I say, pointing to the line. “You read two cups of baking soda instead of two teaspoons.” I gesture to the instructions. “And I believe this may have been incorrect as well.”
She drops her face into her hands again. “Stars help me, how could I be so stupid?”
“You’re not stupid,” I say gently, pulling her hands from her face. I don’t like that she’s so hard on herself, and I hate seeing her so upset. “You’re still learning, and now you know. It’s a simple mistake to correct.”
Hope and uncertainty war in her expression. “You’d be okay with me trying another batch? Even after I nearly burned down your kitchen?”
I hesitate briefly, glancing at the ash-dusted counter and floor. But as I look into her earnest, hopeful gaze, my resolve crumbles instantly. I find myself incapable of denying her anything.
“Absolutely,” I reply, ignoring Errol’s exaggerated groan of disbelief.
