We worked in sync, like a well-oiled machine. Ellie tackled the desserts while I focused on the main dishes. Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes—all my favorite holiday staples. The kitchen smelled like heaven, a blend of savory and sweet that made my mouth water.
"How's that fudge coming along?" I asked, stirring a pot of gravy.
Ellie peered into a pan, her brow furrowed. "Almost there. Just needs a few more minutes."
I turned back to my work, humming softly as I mashed the potatoes. The day was flying by, and I could feel the excitement building inside me. Tonight would be special—I could feel it in my bones.
Suddenly, I heard a yelp from Ellie. "Beth! Fire!"
I spun around to see flames licking up from one of the pans on the stove. My heart leaped into my throat, but I acted on instinct. Grabbing a nearby towel, I smothered the fire, beating it down until it finally fizzled out.
Ellie stood there wide-eyed, clutching the pan of fudge like it was a lifeline.
"That was close," I said, trying to catch my breath.
She let out a nervous laugh. "Guess I'm not cut out to be a firefighter."
I couldn't help but laugh too. "Good thing we're better at baking than fire prevention."
We both chuckled, the tension melting away like sugar in hot cocoa. It felt good to laugh—really laugh—especially after the hectic day we'd had.
"Let's keep an eye on things from now on," I said, giving her a playful nudge.
"Deal," she replied with a grin.
We got back to work, but the mood had lightened considerably. There was something about shared laughter that made everything seem more manageable.
As we finished up our preparations, I couldn't help but feel grateful for moments like these—for friends who turned potential disasters into cherished memories.
I stood at the counter, peeling potatoes with a rhythm that was almost therapeutic. The thin skins fell away easily, revealing the pale, starchy flesh underneath. Once I had a respectable pile, I diced them into chunks and dropped them into a pot of boiling water. The kitchen was filled with a comforting warmth, the windows slightly fogged from the steam.
As the potatoes cooked, I moved around the kitchen, preparing the other ingredients. Butter, cream cheese, garlic—everything needed to be just right for my famous mashed potatoes. It was a recipe passed down from my grandmother, one that had become a staple at every holiday gathering.
Ellie hummed along to the Christmas music playing softly in the background as she stirred her fudge. I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. We were both in our element here, creating something special for tonight's tree lighting.
Once the potatoes were tender enough to break apart with a fork, I drained them and returned them to the pot. The steam billowed up, warming my face as I added generous dollops of butter and cream cheese. The secret to my mashed potatoes was all in the mix—getting that perfect balance of creamy and fluffy without turning them into glue.
I grabbed a masher and started working the mixture, adding a splash of warm milk and a pinch of salt and pepper. The sound of mashing was oddly satisfying, each press releasing more steam and melding the ingredients together.
"Need any help over there?" Ellie asked, peeking over my shoulder.
"I'm good," I replied, not wanting to break my concentration. "Almost done."
She nodded and went back to her fudge, leaving me to finish up. After a few more minutes of mashing and stirring, I tasted a small spoonful. Perfectly creamy with just the right amount of garlic and butter. It tasted like home.
I transferred the mashed potatoes to a serving dish and sprinkled some fresh chives on top for a pop of color. Standing back, I admired my handiwork. There was something incredibly satisfying about taking simple ingredients and turning them into something so comforting.
Ellie came over and took a whiff. "Those smell amazing."
"Thanks," I said with a smile. "Grandma's recipe never fails."
She gave me a thumbs-up before returning to her own creation. As I covered the dish with foil to keep it warm, I felt a surge of excitement for tonight's event. Cooking had always been my way of showing love, and I hoped everyone would enjoy what we had prepared.
The kitchen buzzed with energy as we continued our preparations, each dish bringing us one step closer to making tonight's gathering unforgettable.
Ellie finished her fudge, carefully pouring the glossy mixture into a pan to set. She glanced up at me with a playful glint in her eye. “I made extra,” she said. “I think I’m going to take some to the Dungeon Bat.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by her generosity. “Wow, that’s nice of you.”
