Before I can say anything, she throws her arms around my neck.
“You girls squeal too much,” I groan, standing up with her still in my arms.
“You love it.”
Maybe I do.
I sigh when I notice the mess she has already made. “Tilly,” I say, staring into the bowl like it personally offends me, “How did you make the dough worse than the last time you baked?”
“It’s not that bad!”
“It’s liquid. It’s literally a smoothie.” I take the spoon and show how thedoughfalls off to prove my point.
“That’s why I asked for help!” she argues, sticking her tongue out at me.
I sigh, grabbing the flour. “Okay, do you at least know how to whip cream?”
She gasps. “Do I look like I don’t?”
I look her dead in the eyes. “You want me to answer that honestly?”
Her jaw drops. “Wow. Of course, I know how to whip cream.”
“Good. Then whip it while I fix this… soup.”
She starts working, muttering something under her breath about ungrateful men.
I can’t help but smile as she focuses, her hair falling into her face, her lips pressed together in concentration.
By the time the cake is in the oven, we both look like we’ve survived a small food explosion.
Partly because the flour bag did explode, and partly because she blew all of it around, explaining it’s for the illusion of snow.
“There,” I say proudly, dusting flour off my hands.
Tilly turns to me with that mischievous look that never means anything good. “Hey, Luca?”
“What—”
She smeared whipped cream across my nose.
“Tilly!” I try to sound mad but end up laughing. “What was that for?”
“For thinking I can’t whip cream,” she says between giggles, already taking out her phone.
“Don’t you dare take a picture—”
Too late.
“Now I have evidence,” she says smugly.
I dip my finger in the bowl and get her back, dabbing cream on her nose. “Now we’re even.”
She bursts out laughing, leaning against the counter to keep from falling. “You look like a bunny!”
“I look like a what?”
“A bunny,” she repeats, flicking my nose. “A cute one.”
