13
Dinners
Miranda
I didn’t know whether there was a witch or warlock somewhere who possessed the kind of magic that would make meal prep a breeze, who could simply snap his or her fingers and conjure a casserole or a soufflé. Or maybe a spell existed in a grimoire someplace that could do the same sort of thing. I supposed it didn’t really matter, because I knew my Great-Aunt Rachel would kill me if she ever caught me taking those sorts of shortcuts in the kitchen.
Because a few clouds had begun to gather toward sunset, and I could already feel the temperature dropping, I thought I’d make a big pot of spaghetti for dinner. Something about the aroma of homemade spaghetti sauce and garlic bread always made a house feel cozy. Besides, it would give Simon and me leftovers for the evenings
