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“Don't stir so hard.”
You sighed and you fought the urge to strangle the white-haired nuisance behind you.
“The batter will deflate in the oven and then we’ll have to start over,” he finished.
Sylus wasn't even looking at you! How did he know that you were...
“And don't mix it for so long. Here.” He took the bowl from your hands, showed you the proper technique for the second time, and handed the spatula back to you with an encouraging smile. Usually, you would compliment him on his practiced ease and effortless precision. You would praise him for his smooth, controlled motions and his mastery in science, art, and baking.
But Luke and Kieran's party started in three hours.
And this was your third batch of macarons.
You copied his movements near perfectly, and Sylus nodded in approval. Satisfied, he placed the bowl back in your hands, his fingers barely brushing yours. The small smile continued to tug at his lips. It was the kind of expression that made it impossible to tell whether he was amused by your struggle or genuinely pleased by your effort. You concluded that it was a combination of both.
"I don’t know why he couldn’t have picked an easier dessert," you muttered into the batter.
Sylus hummed in slight sympathy, but you both knew the truth. You could have avoided this entirely. A quick trip to The Wicked Whisk for a dozen Moonshadow Macarons and Nightberry Tarts, and Luke would have been just as delighted as he was every year with a store-bought cake.
But this wasn’t just any birthday.
This year your sons were turning thirteen. Teenagers. Soon they'd be mouthing you off and flipping you the bird until one day they just moved out entirely, and then where would you be?
So, here you were, hands sticky with batter, apron dusted in sugar, and flour tangled in your hair, with only three hours left before the twins came home from their afternoon of ice fishing.
“Maybe we should take a brea—”
“No,” you interrupted.
“I wouldn't mind—”
“No,” you said firmly. “I’ll make them. He already knows what your macarons taste like. I can do this.”
A glob of batter flew out of the bowl as you once again stirred too forcefully, splattering across the counter. You looked at it and decided that Kieran was the favourite because he decided he wanted his cake to be made out of mashed potatoes.
Sylus, ever unruffled, set a neatly peeled and pegged orange in front of you.
“For courage,” he said, amusement still glinting brightly in his eyes.
“Are you sure that we have to temper the chocolate for the ganache?" you started. "I think that's the part that's screwing everything up.”
Sylus rolled his eyes. You nodded.
That was answer enough.
You sighed and dipped the whisk into the mixture, trying your best to follow the steps, but the filling refused to come together.
This was now your fourth batch. Each time, it was either too runny or too thick, never just right.
Sylus watched you struggle, silent per your request, with a warmth simmering in his chest. Your dedication was admirable. In any other situation, he would've called you stubborn. "Maybe less impatience and more technique?" he said.
With anyone else, he wouldn’t have been so brash. So forward. But this was you he was talking to. There was no need for manners and formalities. With you, he could be himself; unfiltered, unguarded.
“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, stirring harder.
Like clockwork, the batter sloshed out of the bowl. You were starting to wonder if you had accidentally cast some sort of jumping spell on the damn thing.
"This is impossible."
He raised an eyebrow. "Impossible? Or just inconvenient?"
You shot him a look. “Same thing.”
“I’m just saying, apricots can be a substitute for grape jelly. They're basically the same thing.”
Sylus shook his head. “I’m sorry, were you crowned the Greatest Pastry Maker in the N109? I must have missed the ceremony." He tilted his head playfully, his eyes gleaming with just the right touch of teasing. “Oh wait, no. That's me. I hold that title.”
You were half an hour away from the party. It was a small event, only including the four of you. You would celebrate the twins’ birthday, you would give Luke the new Crimson Charm Shadowmane pony doll, and you would give Kieran a well-loved soccer ball that had been passed down from his older cousin.
Sylus knew that you hated being hovered over, a quirk you had told him time and time again. "I can figure it out," you would say, "I need space. Back off."
So, he took extra care to be patient with you, and he fixed your measurements when you weren't looking, making sure everything came together just right without pushing you too much.
“They were supposed to be back by now...”
“You did tell them to take their time getting home.” Sylus didn't look up from his task. He had busied himself with patchwork, a square to be added to the never-ending quilt he and Luke were making.
You sat on the chair next to him. He rested a hand on your leg to stop it from bouncing.
“They're fine,” he said, his voice doing little to reassure you. “They’re just taking the scenic route, that’s all.”
His words, though simple, held some comfort. He had a way of quieting your thoughts, of grounding you when your anxieties began to spiral. You let out a breath, leaning into his presence, grateful for his steady confidence.
“I’m going to go look for them.”
“It’s only been a few minutes.”
“But what if—”
Sylus called your name. “They would have called on the emergency phone if something had gone wrong.”
He was right, you knew.
He cut you off, pulling you into a hug, stopping your spiral. You nestled into the crook of his neck, allowing a few tears to fall.
You looked at your un-called phone in your hand. “Alright,” you said. “But if anything happens to them, I swear I’ll make you regret it.”
Sylus rolled his eyes, relaxing at your ‘harsh’ comment. “I would expect nothing less.”
“There you are!” You flung your arms around your little troublemakers before assaulting them with kisses. "Happy Birthday! We were so worried—"
Kieran pushed you off, wiping the kisses from his forehead. “You have to—”
“Come outside—!” Luke finished.
They were trying to speak at the same time. Excitement and urgency filled the room, immediately dissolving whatever worry had previously occupied it. Kieran took your hands and pulled you out, Luke took Sylus'. You exchanged glances with the taller man, your own excitement building. Kieran's grip tightened with enthusiasm.
“Should we go back for our coats?” Sylus said.
“No! We’re almost there!” replied Luke.
You huffed a breath, the tip of your nose going pink from the cold. Sylus looked equally as chilled, and disappointed that he didn't have his jacket to offer you.
“There it is!” Kieran said.
“There ‘what’ is?” Sylus asked.
You were about to speak when you heard it.
One meow. Then a yawn. Then another meow. All coming from the same animal hidden somewhere in that bundle of leaves in front of you.
Luke gasped, already rushing ahead before you could stop him. Kieran was only a step behind, his excitement barely restrained.
Oh no.
“You have to let us keep him! It’s our birthday.” Luke wasn't letting up. He had been the one to spot the kitten, of course. Luke had a sixth sense when it came to these things. He was like a bloodhound the way he could sniff out a wounded animal.
“I don't have to let you do anything,” you said.
“Yes you do, Kieran said so.” Luke turned to his brother, obviously expecting him to back him up.
Kieran, realizing the impact of his comment, stayed silent.
“Did he, now?” you said, crossing your arms. Kie kept his gaze locked on the ground. You looked over to Sylus for some help—any help.
...
Sylus was as taken by the kitten as they were. He looked at you, and you could see that there wasn't going to be a fight. It was three against one. And it was a special birthday.
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose before speaking.
“I am not feeding it. I am not cleaning up after it. And if it so much as looks at me wrong—”
You were cut off by a cacophony of ‘thank yous’ and an onslaught of rib-crushing hugs.
You shook your head, resigned to the fact that the kitten was now part of the family. Turning to Sylus, you caught him standing a little further back, his expression distant, as if his mind was somewhere else entirely. His usual calm, attentive demeanor was gone, replaced with an unreadable look in his eyes. It was subtle, but you noticed it, and for a moment, it gave you pause.
You shook it off, distracted by the now-screeching children in front of you. He was Sylus—always composed, always in control. You trusted him. He probably had a lot on his mind with his duties, and the kids' excitement was hardly anything out of the ordinary for him. With a quick smile, you ushered everyone back to the house. The noise of the twins discussing kitten names filled the air, but as you walked alongside Sylus, you couldn't help but wonder what had caused that fleeting look. Something about it lingered in your thoughts, but you pushed it away for now.
The kids were happy, and that was all that mattered.