Page 32 of Appointing

“Christian and Hugo are talking about military strategy. Erik and Mari have been flirting all night. Lillian and Gretel are debating architecture. Palmer and Elizabeth have already gone to bed probably, to call their children and then have some alone time. Everyone’s paired off. It’s just me out there, trying to figure out where I fit in, like always.”

Ingrid nodded, reached for an apron that had been hanging on a hook, and handed it to Elin.

“If you’re going to help, you’ll have to dress the part, Ma’am,” Ingrid told her.

Elin smiled, removed her blazer, hanging it up on the now-empty hook, untucked her shirt, and put on the apron. Ingrid put one on herself, and then she pulled out bowls, spoons, the mixer, and the ingredients while Elin stood there watching her in awe. The custard was made with Elin helping stir things mostly, while Ingrid attempted to teach her how to bake.

“Now, most people add cardamom to the dough because it’s so prevalent in Norwegian food. It’s citrusy, minty, spicy, and herbal, all at the same time, which makes it adapt to all sorts of food well; savory or sweet. However, I like to add a combination of a little cinnamon and nutmeg.” She passed Elin a small container of cinnamon. “Here; add just a dash.”

“How much exactly is a dash?” Elin asked.

“A dash. It’s not a measurement.”

“Then, how much do I add?”

Ingrid laughed, stood behind her, and took Elin’s hand holding the cinnamon. She was close. Ingrid was too close, and she smelled like freshly baked bread, vanilla, and now cinnamon, and Elin was going to lose herself in that scent if Ingrid didn’t move away from her soon.

“Just tip it over for a second; that’s a dash,” she said, moving Elin’s hand until the cinnamon was tipped over and a small amount had been added. “There. Now, do the same with the nutmeg.”

Elin did, and they finished the dough together. Once everything was formed, Ingrid put them in the oven, and they stood there, now nothing left to do but wait for them to cook and then top them with the sweetened coconut Ingrid had already pulled out and prepared.

“How did you learn the cinnamon and nutmeg thing?” Elin asked.

“My mother,” Ingrid replied. “We didn’t have much growing up, and cardamom was more expensive than nutmeg and cinnamon. We usually at least had cinnamon around, so she would use that, but around Christmas, she’d make pies and Skolebrød for us, and she’d add the nutmeg. My sister is probably a good chef because of my mother. She was taught to think outside of the box from a young age because we didn’t have the fancy ingredients recipes called for.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Elin said. “Where are your parents now?”

“They’re here, in Oslo. Well, my mom is. She and my father divorced when I was very young. Then, she remarried, and along came Sarah Anne. I don’t know where my father is, but my stepdadismy father.”

“This might be too personal, but your father… was he bad, or did he do something?”

“I was so little. My mom doesn’t talk about him much, but I know he was allowed to see me and chose not to. I looked him up when I was younger, and he’s remarried now. He has a son and two daughters.”

“You have more siblings?”

“I do, yes. My sister, who I mentioned, her name is Sarah Anne,” Ingrid said, smiling at her warmly. “I’ve never met his other children, though, and I don’t plan on it. I don’t even know if they know about me. I’m not going to disrupt their lives, and I certainly don’t want to disrupt my own. Tea, Ma’am?” she asked.

“Sorry?”

“Would you like some tea?” Ingrid asked.

“Oh, yes. But I can make it.”

“No, please don’t,” Ingrid suggested. “I don’t want to have to bandage another burn tonight.”

Elin watched as Ingrid prepared her tea for her and then placed the cup in front of the stool she’d been sitting on. Moments later, the timer went off.

“These are supposed to cool first, but you seem rather impatient,” Ingrid said, placing the tray on the counter.

Elin ran her hands together rapidly in anticipation.

“Just let me top them first so that you can get the full experience.” Ingrid laughed at her. “If you can wait five minutes, the blast chiller will cool them enough by then.”

Elin thought about the fact that outside of this kitchen, she had guests likely wondering where she was. She knew she should tell Ingrid that she had to get back and would have to enjoy her treat later, but she also knew that no one had come in search of her, so maybe she had a little time.

“I can wait,” she replied, removing her apron and watching Ingrid take the tray to the industrial blast chiller.

“So, how did everyone take the news?” Ingrid asked upon her return.

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