"Ah. My apologies," Malachi said, adjusting his grip smoothly. "I am accustomed to dealing with firmer materials."
"Like weapons and shields," Pearl whispered to me, snickering.
I rolled my eyes, finally managing to get most of the flour off my clothes. I grabbed a knife and a wooden cutting board, moving to the far end of the table to start slicing the fresh apples for the cinnamon turnovers. I tried my best to ignore the tall, golden-eyed distraction working just a few feet away, but every time I looked up, Malachi was already watching me, his eyes filled with that quiet, steady warmth that made it impossible to breathe normally.
"You're doing great, everyone!" my mom called out, wiping down the counters. "At this rate, we'll have enough treats to feed half the festival grounds by tomorrow morning. Amara, make sure those apple slices are thin, or they won't cook through!"
"I know, Mom," I sighed, focusing entirely on the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the wood.
