Nina
I got to work as soon as we reached home.
Mixing bowls, a whisk, a dusting of flour and sugary sweetness in the air that I could taste on my tongue—the kitchen was my sanctuary, and I relished in the task at hand. Making the cake wasn't merely a chore; it was a testament to our love, a sweet delight to mark our engagement.
It was a meditative practice, too; a way to unwind after everything. As I worked lovingly on the chocolatey batter, I found myself thinking that I would be spending a lot of time baking in this kitchen over the years.
In my peripheral vision, I noticed Enzo fiddling with something in the hallway. Curiosity nudged at me, so I wiped my hands on my apron and tiptoed to the corner.
“Whatcha doing?” I started to ask, but the words died in my throat as I saw him ca
