Savannah's POV
"Absolutely not! I am perfectly capable!"
"Ethel, you nearly sliced your finger instead of the onion just now!"
"Maybe that adds character to the dish?"
I laughed and gently guided her away from the cutting board. The poor vegetables looked like they'd survived a natural disaster, with her chipped blue nail polish scattered among the chaos like confetti at a crime scene.
I settled her into a chair and handed her a glass of wine. Living with Ethel for the past few days had been surprisingly wonderful. Well, except for the kitchen disasters. Which we'd learned to avoid entirely.
"Forget this. I'm calling for delivery."
"We ordered in yesterday evening and again at lunch. You grabbed pastries and lattes from that cafe this morning! Look at that stove! It's practically untouched since you moved in!"
Ethel huffed and reluctantly set her phone aside. Despite her dramatic pout, her eyes danced with barely contained laughter.
