Chapter 21 Chance
Chance
When I came down the stairs after a long dawn flight and shower, the whole main floor was alive. Sunlight through the curtains, cinnamon in the air, and the wild, vibrating sound of Maeve Spicer wrangling my daughters in the kitchen.
She'd commandeered the island as her teaching stage. The counter was buried under flour, all the mixing bowls in the house, kitchen scales, dough blobs in various stages of chaos, and two rolling pins. The windows fogged from the heat, the coffee machine was rolling, and the oven preheating.
Fifi and Mere hunched over their work, sleeves rolled up, hands buried wrist-deep in dough.
Fifi's red hair kept escaping her ponytail, curling strands sticking to her cheeks, but she didn't care.
She attacked the dough with single-minded gusto, throwing elbows more than technique.
Mere, on the other hand, was surgical. Every motion was measured, precise, like she was running a science experiment instead of prepping cinnamon rolls.
If there was a gold medal for quiet determination, she'd win it.
Maeve was in her element, apron on, silver streaked auburn hair, so close to the same color as Fifi's, twisted into a messy bun, a wooden spoon stuck in as a hair stick.
Her hands flashed between the twins, covering every contingency.
"No, remember, when you bake, you weigh your ingredients!
Okay, good, now fold, never punch. Use the heel of your palm, see?
Like this." Her voice sang through the kitchen, part teacher, part drill sergeant, all witch.
I leaned against the door jamb and soaked it in. This was a dream I hadn't known I had. The girls, my daughters, belonged right here.
Caden was beyond smug. He liked the teamwork. He liked the smell of sugar and the way the twins sounded when they asked silly questions. "If I eat dough as a dragon, will it taste the same?" Fifi asked.
Good question. I'd only ever eaten meat in dragon form.
"Does magic make your food taste better, or is it just that you're a good baker?" Mere pressed.
Maeve shrugged off the question, grinning, and redirected them to the dough.
Huey did his rounds, circling, and when anything edible hit the floor, he was on it before almost gravity finished the job.
Lola perched regally and suspiciously on the sunniest windowsill. Her tail flicked every time Huey got near. Most cats dodged drama, but Lola absolutely bathed in it. If flour got on her fur, she'd pointedly groom until someone groveled and offered her treats.
I was about to join in when I heard my mother's shoes on the tile.
Oh, this was going to be fun, Mother and Maeve.
Mom entered like she owned not just the kitchen, but all of time and space.
She wore a crisp teal blouse, her hair swept into a flawless updo, ruby earrings catching the early light.
She took the scene in with a single sweep, then her razor-sharp gaze landed on the mountain of dough in front of Fifi.
She pounced. "You're using too much water," she announced. She eyed Maeve, not the twins. "Pie crust needs to be dry, just barely moistened so it binds. That's why yours is always so heavy."
Maeve snorted, not even bothering to hide the eyeroll.
"That's why it's flaky, you mean. If you use cold water and enough butter, you can bend the rules.
" She didn't pause her hands, she yanked Fifi's dough ball out, pressed it flat, and dusted it with flour until it gave up the ghost and looked edible.
Mom tsked. "No, darling, flake comes from technique, not shortcuts. You're over-wetting it. Watch."
She stepped in and stole Mere's dough for a demonstration. The twins watched, eyes bouncing between the two women in a bakers' version of a showdown. A tiny smile started on Mere's face, quickly suppressed. Fifi's eyes twinkled.
Maeve rolled her shoulders. "I've been making pies for longer than you've been on charity committees, Aunt Livia."
"Since infancy? You were a prodigy, of course. But my entry won blue ribbons for apple pie at the county fair three years running. You would remember if you were old enough."
Mere blinked, then the grin broke free. "Are you two going to arm wrestle or what?"
Fifi cackled. "My money's on the witch."
Maeve bowed, never missing a beat. "Smart girl. But watch carefully. If the dough gets shaggy, you add just a splash."
Mom fixed her with a gaze as calm as steel. "A splash for amateurs. A sprinkle for those who care about structure."
They squared off. Maeve with the wooden spoon, Mom with a silver one she'd summoned from I-didn't-see-where. The air buzzed.
Caden chuckled. Livia will win. Livia always wins.
Huey settled under the island, waiting for the loser to drop a chunk.
I caught the twins trading glances. Mere leaned away from the battle, but Fifi caught my eye, totally unbothered by the drama.
"Is it always like this?" she stage-whispered.
I smirked. "You should see them during canning season."
At that, the room flared into noise. The oven beeped, Maeve and Mom argued about hydration ratios, Fifi tried to sneak cinnamon into the dry bowl, Maeve let her, and Mere started side-questioning Mom about life spans of witches.
Mom obliged, barely missing a beat, then checked her phone, thumb lightning-fast. She scanned the screen, frowned, then slid the phone deep into her pocket.
She caught me noticing. "Nothing for you to worry about."
Maeve scoffed. She wasn't buying it, but she also didn't care. She was busy constructing what looked like a cinnamon-roll army, lined up in twos and fours, ready for the pan.
I spotted a perfect opening. "Speaking of family," I said, sorting coffee mugs, "any word from Damon or Evan? I thought they'd at least text to come home for the holidays."
Mom's smile twitched, just a hair. "They're both out of state. Busy season, apparently. But we're planning a full Meyer gathering at the end of January, after all the travel settles."
That was nonsense, but I let it slide. Damon hadn't left Tennessee in months; Evan came and went like a storm but hadn't missed Christmas since 2012.
The truth was, my brothers lived in this weird orbit.
Sometimes they showed, sometimes not. If Mom said they couldn't make it, there was a story behind it, and I was smart enough not to ask with an audience.
The twins didn't care. They focused on the moment.
"Can we do a berry pie filling?" Fifi begged.
I raised a brow at Maeve. "You're the general."
She grinned. "Of course." She elbowed Fifi conspiratorially. "But you need to get these rolls into the pan first. Otherwise, Chance sneaks them raw, and then he'll blame the dog."
Behind me, Tash came in through the kitchen door.
For a second, the kitchen, hell, the whole house, tilted on its axis. I shifted position so I could see her.
She looked like she belonged, but the war in her head was obvious. Pride glowed to every smile, but worry shadowed the edges.
Caden hummed, quiet but persistent. Ours. Fix it. Feed her.
I drifted in her direction. "Are you surviving the tornado?"
She laughed, pink in the cheeks. "I've never seen them this happy. Or this sticky."
From the island, Mere piped up, "We're making magic, Mom, you can't rush it!"
Even my mother smiled at that, no snark in it this time.
I dropped it another notch. "Any chance I could steal you for dinner tonight? Something real. Tablecloths, maybe even a candle."
Tash's blush darkened, blooming up her neck. "Me?" She blinked. "Just, uh, dinner? With you?"
I nodded. "Just us. Unless you want to bring the dog. He seems to run the security detail for the house."
Tash laughed, the blush falling away for half a heartbeat. "You're on. But what about the girls?"
I risked it. "My mother would love to hang out with them."
Tash turned to the girls, brow raised. "You don't need babysitters at your age, but with everything that's gone on…"
But Fifi and Mere didn't hesitate. "Grandma can stay with us," Fifi shot out, then instantly faked nonchalance. "I mean, if she wants."
"Yeah," Mere agreed, quieter. "I'd like that."
Mom looked as shocked as I felt. She checked her phone again, but this time she didn't even try to hide it. She just smiled and declared, "It would be my genuine pleasure."
Huey, ever the showman, picked this moment to jump and steal a chunk of unbaked dough from the counter and sprint for the hallway.
Pure chaos ensued. Maeve chased him with a dishtowel, Fifi dove for the dog, Mere moved the pans, and Mom ducked out with the grace of someone who'd seen many disasters in her time.
Within seconds, the cinnamon rolls were safe, the dough crisis contained, and the twins collapsed into chairs, breathless.
I grinned at Tash. "I'm impressed. You make it look easy."
She relaxed, just a little, a shy smile blooming.
"When the baked goods come out, do you want another lesson on shifting?" I asked Fifi.
"Yes!"
By the time the rolls and pies were out and cooling, the twins and my mother were more than ready for our extracurricular.
It wasn't a long hike. Thirty yards past the back deck, through a crescent of old laurel, and we were in a clearing built for dragons.
The last leaves still clung to the birch, but most of the grass had gone dormant, thick and gold.
The air here burned with energy. Ley lines, history, all the bone-deep reasons the Meyer land stayed in the family even if we had to move away sometimes.
Caden wanted out. I could barely keep him contained. He wanted to see Flora, Fifi's dragon, test her new wings.
Mere hustled to keep up, but she never complained. If curiosity was a superpower, Mere would fly before any dragon.
Fifi was nervous, twitchy, trying to style it as swagger but coming up short. Every time she glanced up, you could see the war behind her eyes, half-wild with excitement, half ready to bolt.