Page 51 of Wicked & Wildflower

Finally, Dahlia spins at a slow enough speed that her eyes catch on mine, going wide as she freezes. Then, she screams, an ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream, which triggers a yelp fromLou. The spoon in her hand clatters to the floor as they both look at me with shocked, scared eyes.

As soon as recognition passes through her, Dahlia’s hands fly to her chest, and that fear morphs into vexation. “Fucking Christ, Everett! You wanna warn someone when you walk into the goddamn room?”

“Mom!” Lou shouts. “That’s two dollars.”

“Godammit,” Dal mutters.

“Three!”

“Okay! I get it.” She leans over the counter to catch her breath, tapping on her tablet to lower the volume. I have tears streaming down my face as I stop recording, and she lifts her head just in time to watch me slip my phone back into my pocket. “Were you recording that?”

“Absolutely,” I choke out through fits of laughter.

She rolls her eyes. Lou runs around the end of the kitchen island and grabs me by the hand. “Everett, we made truffles! You have to try one.”

I let her lead me, her hand so small inside my own. She plucks a small chocolate ball covered in green and purple sprinkles from the cookie sheet and places it in my palm. Dahlia watches me curiously, but Lou’s big green eyes are basically pleading with hopeful anticipation as I bite into the soft, fudge-like ball.

It tastes like milk chocolate with a hint of something even sweeter, and the truffle absolutely melts on my tongue. It’s soft and rich, and explosions of flavor burst in my mouth.

“Holy fuck.”

“That’s a dollar,” Lou says, but the smile on her face is filled with pride. I glance at Dahlia, who’s smirking too. I pull my wallet out of my back pocket as I pop the rest of the truffle in my mouth, fishing out four dollar bills and handing it to Lou. She scurries over to a jar on the counter and stuffs the money inside.

“Dal, these are amazing.”

I swear, I see Dahlia blush. “Thank you. I make them every year.”

It’s clear that she feels comfortable in the kitchen. I wonder if it’s therapeutic for her somehow. She made those brownies before her first day of work, that lemon cake that was sitting on the counter the day I came to fix her car. I remember her giving my mom a box of lemon cookies too.

Maybe she just has a sweet tooth, if the insane coffee concoctions she brings into work every day are any indication.

“Do you bake a lot?”

She nods. “I always have. It’s a stress reliever, I guess.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, turning toward the counter and gathering a handful of dishes before she drops them into the sink.

I grab the broom from the pantry and begin sweeping up the sprinkles as Lou asks, “Everett, are you a Swiftie?”

I smile to myself. “I’d say so, yeah.”

Dahlia chuckles from where she washes dishes at the sink. “Lucille is the biggest Swiftie of them all.”

“What’s your favorite era?” she asks, leaning over the counter and placing her cheeks in her palms. Her deep green, saucer-like eyes bore into me, like it’s the most important question she has ever asked.

“Probably Midnights.” I mimic her position, grabbing another truffle and popping it into my mouth. “What’s yours?”

“Oh my gosh,” she squeals. “You aretotallyMidnights!” Those eyes light up as a grin overtakes her face. “I’m Lover.”

“Oh my gosh!” I mimic the excitement in her tone. “You aretotallyLover.”

She’s practically vibrating with energy, and I can feel Dahlia looking at us out of the corner of my eye, but I’m afraid to meet her gaze for some reason.

“Lucille, why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower so we can get you ready for your costume?”

“Okay!” she chimes, mouth full of truffle. The patter of small footsteps ambles toward the staircase at the front of the house.

I wordlessly make my way around the kitchen, grabbing utensils and meeting Dahlia at the sink. She looks down at my full hands, watching as I toss them in with the rest of the dirty dishes before I take the whisk she just finished scrubbing, placing it into the dishwasher.

“How did you get into baking?” I ask before she can protest my helping her.

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