29
We secure the use of the restaurant’s kitchen and get to work. Baggy is the one who taught me how to bake, so we flow together seamlessly in the kitchen.
Before long, she is covered practically from head-to-toe in flour. I’m sure that I don’t look much better.
She swipes her hand across her cheek, leaving a trail of icing in its wake. “It might not look pretty, but it sure is going to taste good.”
I nod, acknowledging the truth in her statement. No one I know can bake a cake as moist and delicious as Baggy can. It’s one of her only traditional grandma traits. Of course, the messy kitchen looks like a five-year-old has been given free rein by the time we’re done, but I know the results will taste marvelous.
Once we cool the cake’s layers, we begin frosting them. The resulting cake i
