Diana
The next day was filled with more glee than I ever had in a week.
When I offered Edric breakfast, he loved it so much, he wanted to know how I made it.
“It was from a recipe book my mother used,” I admitted as I watched him wolf down the entire meal. “I watched a chef do it, and voila…”
The next moment, I was standing in the kitchen, my hands deep in a bowl of flour.
I wiped flour off her cheek with the back of her wrist, my eyes narrowing at Edric, who stood stiffly beside me like the idea of cracking an egg might bring about the apocalypse.
“You’re holding it like it’s a bomb,” I teased him, nudging his elbow as he stared down at the egg with a frown that said he was contemplating war tactics, not breakfast.
“I only know how to deal with meats,” I said and studied the egg l
