I take a breath just as the buzzer sounds.
Here we go.
The door swings open, and Ivy stands there, hands on her hips, hair slightly damp like she’s just had a shower. She eyes the bag in my hand before her gaze flickers up to my face.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my knight in shining apron,” she says, stepping aside to let me in.
I smirk as I brush past her. “I left my apron downstairs. Thought I’d take my chances without it.”
She gestures dramatically towards the kitchen. “Welcome to my domain. Try not to be intimidated by my gnome army.”
I glance around. The counters are already dusted with flour, and there’s an unmistakable burnt smell hanging in the air. Gnomes are no longer just on the coffee table, but the windowsill and on the floor in one corner of the room. I guess those are the ones banished from the breakfast bar which is currently covered in baking tins and flour dust.
I lift an eyebrow. “You already attempted round two without me?”
She crosses her arms. “No, that’s round one. Or… what’s left of it.”
I lean over and peer at the cooling rack. What I assume was meant to be cake has collapsed into a dense, sunken mess. The top looks vaguely caramelised, but not in a good way.
I pick at the edge with my finger. “Did you try to cremate it for good measure?”
“Don’t mock the fallen,” she says solemnly. “It tried its best.”
I shake my head, setting the bag of ingredients down. “Right. Let’s do this properly.”
She watches as I pull out the recipe Klaus sent, her lips twitching. “So, what are we making?”
“A cup cake.”
Her brow furrows. “A cupcake?”
“No, a cup cake.”
She stares. “Theo. That is the same word.”
“Not in Austria, apparently. It’s a full-sized cake, but you measure everything with a cup.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. She points at me. “That is the dumbest baking logic I’ve ever heard.”
I shrug. “I don’t make the rules.”
She sighs, rolling up her sleeves. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming Austria.”
We start mixing, following the stupidly simple instructions Klaus gave me. Ivy takes over measuring the ingredients while I handle the actual mixing.
At first, it goes smoothly. Eggs, yoghurt, cocoa powder, oil and sugar—all mixed to a smooth, creamy liquid. Simple.
Then it doesn’t.
The batter turns out weirdly lumpy when we add the nuts and flour mix, and when we try to smooth it out, it somehow curdles. I don’t even know how that’s possible, but Ivy stands back, hands on her hips, surveying the damage.
“Well,” she says finally. “We made something.”
I exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I think we made a mistake.”
She grins. “Oh? So, Chef Theo isn’t actually an expert?”
I sigh, turning to her. “Fine. I admit it. I am not a baker.”
