Page 39 of Princesses & Pastries
"What do you think about?"
He looks at me, an intensity in his gaze that I don't think I've seen before. "Home." His voice cracks as he says the word.
"I'm sure your parents have missed you," I say.
"I'm not sure my father has." He gives the pot of stroop a stir, sending a sweet, rich, and buttery smell into the air. "But Ma has. It's been good to see her."
"Your father will come around," I say.
"Just in time for me to leave, no doubt." He pulls the stroop off the stove. "This is ready. You should grab a spoon if you want to try it, but be careful not to burn yourself."
"As if I'd do that."
He gives me a look that says he definitely thinks I might burn myself.
"I've learned a few lessons in the past five years too," I point out. "And I own a dragon now, that comes with burns."
"Hopefully none that were too bad."
"I only had to go to the doctor once," I promise as I dip my clean spoon into the stroop mix. I blow on it before putting it in my mouth. "Oh, that is very cinnamony."
"Is that a word?"
"It is now," I respond. "It's good."
"It is," he agrees as he sets up a station next to the stove. "All right, so I think you should do the cooking, and I'll do the slicing. At least until you've seen me do a couple."
"All right. What do I need?"
"Just the balls of dough and a timer for a minute."
"Are they done that quickly?" I'm surprised by that, especially with how dense the dough is and the fact that it's yeasted, but I trust that Nate knows what he's talking about.
"It's really quick. Once they're done, open the iron and I'll cut them in two and put the stroop between them. Then maybe you can have a go."
I nod, getting ready to start the cooking process. Excitement fills me at the thought, especially when this isn't something I've made before, but I do know what it's supposed to come out like. Those are my favourite kind of baking projects.
"Where should I put it?" I ask Nate as I hold one of the golden brown balls over the heated iron.
"Slightly more towards the hinge than the front," he says. "And then make sure you close it firmly. There's a latch on the end to keep it in place."
I nod and put it where he suggests, closing it and squeezing the handles together. Nate flips over the timer, and the sand starts to fall.
"Once half the time is up, flip the iron," he says.
"Half the time? Wouldn't it be better to have an hourglass for thirty seconds instead?"
"We don't have one here," he says. "I'll send you one when I get back to Wafeland."
His words are both sweet and torturous at the same time. I like the idea that he wants to send something to him, but the reminder that he's leaving still hurts more than I want it to.
"Evie," Nate says.
"What?"
"Flip it."
"Oh, sorry." I turn over the iron, but one look at the timer says that I've probably not done a good job at turning it halfway through.
