so, little darlin', you attract all the bees
Everything comes down to choice.
There are two dozen cupcakes in the oven right now, cupcakes made with a batter that's been perfected over the past few days by Claire in the kitchen, given the limited range of ingredients that she has on the island. Taste has never been an issue, but she's had a few batches come out a little powdery, and others too flat. This time, they look just right, puffing over the edge of the holders with just a little tinge of almost burnt gold, the smell easily wafting over the door of the oven as she pulls it open. She has a bowl of icing mixed off and to the side, not quite as airy as the type she whipped back home, but that's not her concern right now.
The choice comes in the form of staring at the pan and remembering the last time she was in this exact position, about to pull out pastries from the rack. It never took much hesitation in those six months whenever Claire knew no one would notice the small things. Sandra and Lyle, they've never been the observant type like Noah, and with her father gone on so many business trips, it was really kind of inevitable that Claire would take liberties here and there. Inadvertently make herself feel like more of a freak.
But this time, she stares, and the reluctance to reach out is enough that Claire tugs a drawer open for the oven mitts anyway, checkered green and white as she pulls them out and sets them on the kitchen counter. Another few minutes pass before they're ready to be iced, Claire tugging each out of its spot and setting them neatly in rings on a plate before turning to face the person who's just walked in.
"Cupcake?" she asks, holding one out. "They're fresh from the oven, although they still need icing."
There are two dozen cupcakes in the oven right now, cupcakes made with a batter that's been perfected over the past few days by Claire in the kitchen, given the limited range of ingredients that she has on the island. Taste has never been an issue, but she's had a few batches come out a little powdery, and others too flat. This time, they look just right, puffing over the edge of the holders with just a little tinge of almost burnt gold, the smell easily wafting over the door of the oven as she pulls it open. She has a bowl of icing mixed off and to the side, not quite as airy as the type she whipped back home, but that's not her concern right now.
The choice comes in the form of staring at the pan and remembering the last time she was in this exact position, about to pull out pastries from the rack. It never took much hesitation in those six months whenever Claire knew no one would notice the small things. Sandra and Lyle, they've never been the observant type like Noah, and with her father gone on so many business trips, it was really kind of inevitable that Claire would take liberties here and there. Inadvertently make herself feel like more of a freak.
But this time, she stares, and the reluctance to reach out is enough that Claire tugs a drawer open for the oven mitts anyway, checkered green and white as she pulls them out and sets them on the kitchen counter. Another few minutes pass before they're ready to be iced, Claire tugging each out of its spot and setting them neatly in rings on a plate before turning to face the person who's just walked in.
"Cupcake?" she asks, holding one out. "They're fresh from the oven, although they still need icing."