Elodie’s POV
I glance up as Fallon speaks to the five year old, my chest aching a little at the obvious discomfort of the child.
Dominic doesn't move at first, glancing up at his mother as though waiting for permission, before shuffling toward the hidden area with his eyes mostly on his own feet. He steps around the wall, returning a moment later holding a small shaker close to his chest, not offering it up, not saying a word, as he heads back toward his mother and holds it out to her without looking up.
'Cinnamon,' Vanessa mutters, not loud enough for the microphone to pick up. I watch them surreptitiously while I start gathering the bowls and measuring cups we'll need, reading her lips. 'You picked cinnamon? What were you thinking? I told you to pick vanilla! You stupid boy.'
Dominic
