June slammed down the spatula. Purple frosting splattered the countertop and echoed onto the backsplash in inky stains that would leave a permanent mark. “Fututus et mori in igni!”
“Swearing in Latin will only cause our daughter to learn Latin faster,” Peter mused, a mug of tea in his hand.
“Medina wanted a fancy cake for her birthday,” she muttered, and contemplated the misshapen, frosted blob in front of her. “Peanut’s shading into deeper colors. I was trying to match the icing to her scales.”
“Most children ask for a pony,” he said calmly, and took a sip of tea. “Ours already exceeded expectations with a dragon.”
“It’s her birthday,” June said desperately. She snaked an arm around him and pulled him close, heedless of the frosting splotches on her sleeve that transferred to his sweater. “This is a mess.”
He hugged her back and set down his tea. “June, darling, what were you even doing in the kitchen?”
The last time she’d tried to cook, they’d had to hide the baby dragon from the fire department.
She rubbed her face against the pattern of his sweater, small bumps of the weave a reassuring nudge across her nose. “I wanted to do it myself, not just buy it.”
Peter reached out and swiped a finger through the mess resting in chaotic glory atop the countertop. “Tastes good. Why don’t you do what you do best?”
She bonked her forehead against his shoulder. “Go back to teaching at the university?”
“What? No.” His chin settled on her head, chest rumbling in a laugh that was nearly a purr. “Magic it.”
“Huh.” Craning her neck, she contemplated the mess of crumbs buried under inches of thick frosting. “I guess the base is there.”
“Under more sugar than is healthy for anyone. Medina will love it. You’re just making it fancy with the skills you have. Not the ones you don’t.” He snagged his rapidly cooling tea and dropped a kiss atop her forehead. “You’ve got this.”
Ten minutes later, a squeal of delight drew him back to the kitchen.
This time, he choked on the last of his tea. “Bit overboard, don’t you think?”
The cake had morphed from an unidentifiable mess into an exquisite fantasy landscape with amethyst swirls and deep oceanic blues. Whirling gumdrop trees covered with sparkly lights danced atop the surface in flickering glimmers that rendered candles unnecessary.
June glared.
Peter cleared his throat. “She’ll love it.”
***
This week’s prompt came from Leigh Kimmel: Whirling gumdrop trees covered with sparkly lights.
My prompt went to nother Mike: The lamp curled out an arm and tapped her on the shoulder.
