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I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh, but Ethan got the gist and gave me a withering look.
"Better she call you than show up at your door unannounced," I reminded them, then glanced at Malik and pinched two fingers together. "Could you stall her for just a minute?"
He smiled. "For you, Sentinel, of course," he said, then disappeared down the hallway again.
Ethan looked at me expectantly. "Well, Sentinel?"
Ethan and I were both coming to grips with the fact that we weren't human, that our relationship would never be as simple as human relationships were. That we were supernaturals, and for the foreseeable future, drama would be an inevitable part of our lives. But that didn't mean it wasn't important to remember the little things, to make time for ourselves and our relationship, and to cherish what we had.
"We missed Valentine's Day," I said. "Even if we're vampires, I wanted to give us something special. I thought I'd arrange dinner before dawn."
"Meaning you'll have Margot order pizza."
I rolled my eyes. "No. Something better. Something special."
He looked at me for a moment.
"Benefit of the doubt," I dryly said.
"All right, Sentinel. You have your second chance at Valentine's Day. But I'll warn you in advance. I'm starving . . . and not just for food."
That comment made me light-headed enough that it was a miracle I didn't fall over in the foyer. That would not have helped the dinner planning, which was going to require a bit of teamwork.
I raced upstairs to the third floor and knocked on Lindsey's door. I found her toweling off from the shower.
"What's up, toots?"
"I need a favor."
"Oh?"
"I'd like to salvage Valentine's Day. But I need to do it within the next couple of hours. I've already decided on dinner - I can handle that on my own. I need something else. A treat."
Lindsey frowned, walking around her room a bit as she pondered the question. "Stores are closed, so there's no time for that. You've already planned dinner, so that's out, unless we can spice dinner up a bit?"
She turned back at me and winged up her eyebrows suggestively.
"He already gets that," I said.
She chortled. "Empathic, remember? Well aware of the twists and turns of your romantic life."
My cheeks warmed.
"No," she said. "I have something else in mind. Something Margot can help us with?"
"Oh?"
"It's simple," she said with a wink. "We'll let him eat cake."
Lindsey got dressed, after which I followed her downstairs to the kitchen. Ethan's door was still closed, but the magic seeping beneath the door didn't seem too crazed.
When she pushed open the kitchen door, we found the room empty but for Margot, who stood in front of one of her giant stoves in her chef's whites, her dark bob of hair peeking beneath her hat. She stirred a small saucepot with a tiny whisk, her gaze darting between the contents of the pot and the electronic tablet propped up beside her.
"What's cooking, toots?" Lindsey said, putting her bag on the counter and sidling up to Margot.
"Bearnaise," Margot said, frowning as she looked back at the sauce and began to stir furiously. "The sauce I cannot master."
"Can you buy it in a bottle?"
Margot gave her a skewering look. "A trained chef does not buy bearnaise in a bottle." She stared down at the sauce for a moment before letting out a sound of utter exasperation. She flipped off the heat and stepped back, rubbing her hands over her face.
"What happened?" I asked.
"The sauce broke. Again." Her expression forlorn and shoulders bent, she looked up again. "I could probably try to salvage it, but I have been beaten down by the French today, and I just can't do it." She glanced at me and Lindsey. "What are you up to?"
"Merit has a dilemma, and I think a cake might fix it."
It was like a light had turned on in Margot's eyes. Her entire expression changed, from defeat to the excitement of a new challenge.
"A cake will undoubtedly fix it," Margot said. "What's the occasion?"
"Valentine's Day. Well, belated, anyway."
Margot pressed a hand to her chest, "Oh, cute!"
"Right?" Lindsey said. "Isn't it, like, so normal of them?"
"They're such a cute couple," Margot remarked, crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the counter.
"That's why I love it. It's adorable."
"You know I'm standing right here," I reminded them.
"I was thinking you could make that chocolate torte," Lindsey said.
Margot's mouth formed an "O." "Oh," she said, "the torte."
"What's the torte?" I asked.
Margot glanced at me. "It's a very decadent, flourless chocolate cake. Velvety chocolate with just a hint of raspberry ganache. Very appropriate for Valentine's Day. It's a very sexy cake," she said. "And Ethan loves it. It's one of his favorites."
I had definitely come to the right place for help. "Is this possibly something we could do tonight? I was hoping for a meal before the sun came up again. It's been a long night."
She checked her watch and nodded. "It comes together really quickly. We've got just enough time to bake it off and let it cool. How does that sound?"
"Like a phenomenal plan," I said, beginning to smile a little. "Thanks."
"Oh, honey, I'm not actually making it for you. I'm just giving you directions." With a wink, she pointed toward a set of aprons hanging from a wall hook. "Grab your gear, and let's get started."
Start, we did. I'd thought, if just for a moment, that helping bake a cake would be a way to relax. And in a sense, it was. We were three girlfriends in a kitchen, mixing and measuring as we discussed boys and their various issues. But Margot took pride in her work. And just like every other vampire with the same trait, she was exacting in her methods and very, very particular.
The cocoa had to be measured in a very particular way. ("Sweep and scoop! Sweep and scoop!")
The cocoa had to be placed in the bowl in a very particular way. ("Sift it first!")
The sugar and butter had to be creamed just so, until the mixture was light and fluffy. ("It looks like concrete! Keep stirring!")
The pan had to be perfectly buttered, then dusted with cocoa, in preparation for the cake. ("If I can see metal, you're not done!")
The oven rack had to be placed just so, neither too high nor too low, to ensure consistent baking. ("Lower it! Lower it!")
