Delilah's kitchen was warm, smelling like cinnamon and fried apples, with the sunlight streaming through the window above the sink.
Delilah stood beside Jessica, both of them wearing aprons that looked far too clean for the mess they were making on the counter.
Flour dusted their hands, their noses, even the edge of their sleeves. Beside them, their father held a wooden spoon, stirring a bowl of thick, creamy batter.
"I don't remember the batter being this thick," Ned said with a frown as he looked down at the batter.
"That's because you always let Mom do this part and never listened to a word she said," Delilah teased, laughing as she tried to pour in more milk.
Jessica giggled. "Remember how he used to sneak tastes and pretend he was helping."
"I did more than that. I helped!" Ned said, puffing out his chest in mock pride. "I was the apple peeler. None of you peeled faster than me."
Delilah rolled her eyes. "You never peeled more than two."
