again.
He pulled it from the cabinet. “This is only two cups. Is that going to be enough?”
“Well, if we want more, we’ll reuse the same one.”
William froze. “Me?”
“You’re trying to get out of making as many pancakes as I desire. And I want all of
them. All the pancakes.”
Eventually, they gathered what they needed. William opened the box of mix, but
Casey suddenly shouted, “STOP!”
She bolted out of the room. William debated whether to continue, but before he
could decide, she returned and slipped behind him.
“You absolutely cannot cook without wearing this,” she declared, holding up a light
pink apron.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes, you have to. It’s the uniform at Harlow’s.”
She tied the apron for him, pulling it tight, and smiled, clearly loving her role
as the supervisor.
“Let’s get to making pancakes!” she shouted, raising a fist.
William measured two cups of mix into the bowl. Casey, seated on the counter,
whispered, “More.”
“One more or two more cups?” William asked.
“More,” Casey’s eyes widened.
“Three or four cups?”
“MORE!” Her voice echoed through the kitchen.
William froze, empty cup in hand.
“Two cups will be fine,” she said, smirking.