the contents of the pot and the electronic tablet propped up beside her.
"What's cooking, toots?" Lindsey said, putting her bag on the counter and sidling up to Margot.
"Bearnaise," Margot said, frowning as she looked back at the sauce and began to stir furiously. "The sauce I cannot master."
"Can you buy it in a bottle?"
Margot gave her a skewering look. "A trained chef does not buy bearnaise in a bottle." She stared down at the sauce for a moment before letting out a sound of utter exasperation. She flipped off the heat and stepped back, rubbing her hands over her face.
"What happened?" I asked.
"The sauce broke. Again." Her expression forlorn and shoulders bent, she looked up again. "I could probably try to salvage it, but I have been beaten down by the French today, and I just can't do it." She glanced at me and Lindsey. "What are you up to?"
"Merit has a dilemma, and I think a cake might fix it."
It was like a light had turned on in Margot's eyes. Her entire expression changed, from defeat to the excitement of a new challenge.
"A cake will undoubtedly fix it," Margot said. "What's the occasion?"
"Valentine's Day. Well, belated, anyway."
Margot pressed a hand to her chest, "Oh, cute!"
"Right?" Lindsey said. "Isn't it, like, so normal of them?"
"They're such a cute couple," Margot remarked, crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the counter.
"That's why I love it. It's adorable."
"You know I'm standing right here," I reminded them.
"I was thinking you could make that chocolate torte," Lindsey said.
Margot's mouth formed an "O." "Oh," she said, "the torte."
"What's the torte?" I asked.
Margot glanced at me. "It's a very decadent, flourless chocolate cake. Velvety chocolate with just a hint of raspberry ganache. Very appropriate for Valentine's Day. It's a very sexy cake," she said. "And Ethan loves it. It's one of his favorites."
I had definitely come to the right place for help. "Is this possibly something we could do tonight? I was hoping for a meal before the sun came up again. It's been a long night."
She checked her watch and nodded. "It comes together really quickly. We've got just enough time to bake it off and let it cool. How does that sound?"
"Like a phenomenal plan," I said, beginning to smile a little. "Thanks."
"Oh, honey, I'm not actually making it for you. I'm just giving you directions." With a wink, she pointed toward a set of aprons hanging from a wall hook. "Grab your gear, and let's get started."
Start, we did. I'd thought, if just for a moment, that helping bake a cake would be a way to relax. And in a sense, it was. We were three girlfriends in a kitchen, mixing and measuring as we discussed boys and their various issues. But Margot took pride in her work. And just like every other vampire with the same trait, she was exacting in her methods and very, very particular.
The cocoa had to be measured in a very particular way. ("Sweep and scoop! Sweep and scoop!")
The cocoa had to be placed in the bowl in a very particular way. ("Sift it first!")
The sugar and butter had to be creamed just so, until the mixture was light and fluffy. ("It looks like concrete! Keep stirring!")
The pan had to be perfectly buttered, then dusted with cocoa, in preparation for the cake. ("If I can see metal, you're not done!")
The oven rack had to be placed just so, neither too high nor too low, to ensure consistent baking. ("Lower it! Lower it!")
Somehow, miraculously, we came through it still friends. And I must admit, I learned a lot. I hadn't done much baking in the past and really didn't have an urge to start now - I preferred dodging a katana slash to pressing the lumps out of cocoa powder - but in the short amount of time we worked with her, Margot taught us a lot.
The timer sounded, and Margot pulled a dark cake from the oven. She set it on a cooling rack, then stepped back to admire our handiwork.
"Ladies," she said, "it doesn't look awful."
It wasn't much of a compliment, but I'd take what I could get.
"You are the best." I checked my watch. "I have to run an errand. I'll be back in about twenty minutes. Is that okay?"
"Absolutely. I'll prep the raspberry glaze, and you'll be good to go. I'll make it work," she promised.
I had little doubt. She always did.
-
I'd missed my last chance to provide Ethan with the best