Chapter Fifteen
“They’re a little . . .” Cassie pinches off a corner of a lamb patty and the crust snaps, scattering flakes of pastry across the counter.
“Dry,” we say in unison.
I plop down onto a stool and stare at the small tray of cocktail patties in front of me while Cassie studies the hand-written recipe. “I don’t know what we’re doing wrong. Mr. Spalding and I made these together a couple of times.”
I knew Cassie enjoyed baking. She’d been bringing brownies made from a mix as treats for my parents for years. But I didn’t know she’d graduated to making recipes from scratch with Dad. I pick up the paper with the recipe written on it and study it. It’s wrinkled, and the ink is smeared in spots where it’s gotten wet. Cassie’s handwriting replaces my father’s in the spots where the d
