For the first time since I started working here, the kitchen didn't look like Mr Knight Knight's kitchen.
It looked like a tornado playground.
Flour on the counters. Flour on the floor. Flour in the air like we were inside a snow globe.
Josh was still giggling like a tiny gremlin holding a whisk like it was a sword. Mr Knight was standing stiffly beside him, trying not to move because his very expensive shirt had turned white.
I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand and realised I probably looked like a sad ghost too.
But… It was kind of nice.
Warm.
Real.
Josh cracked another egg—half of it went into the bowl, half onto the counter. Mr Knight winced as the egg had personally offended his ancestors.
"Please," he muttered, "for the love of everything, let me handle the eggs."
"No," Josh said instantly. "You'll suck the fun out of it."
"Fun," Mr Knight repeated, deadpan. "Yes. This. Very fun."
I couldn't help smiling. "He's doing okay. Let him try."
