“Aye,” Agnes said, lifting the pan in the air. “But are you certain it calls for marshmallows? I feel like you’re having me on, Sophie.”
“I promise, it’s a thing.” Sophie grinned and grabbed the dish from Agnes’s hands.
“You could have just let me cook it all,” Lia said.
“And what’s the fun in that? Is it even Thanksgiving if you’re not judging what dish someone brings?” Sophie arched an eyebrow and I bit back a laugh.
“There’s the thankful and loving spirit we’re looking for, dear.” Lottie nodded briskly and Sophie laughed.
“Don’t act like you weren’t pleased when your stuffing won first prize at the neighborhood Thanksgiving potluck.”
“As it well should have.” Lottie sniffed and patted the pink feather fascinator tucked in her hair. “I do make the best stuffing.”
“We’ll see about that.” Ramsay, Willow’s gruff boyfriend who I’d only heard speak about ten words ever, glowered over his dish at Lottie.
“You don’t scare me,” Lottie said. “I won six years in a row. And one year it was against a man whose husband was a food critic.”
Matthew whistled low in appreciation. “It’s virtually impossible to beat a gay with food training and a flair for presentation.”
“I saw him crying into his martini later that night.” Lottie sighed with satisfaction.
“I had no idea Thanksgiving was so ruthless,” Torin said, coming forward to hand me a glass of champagne.
We were gathered at Grasshopper, once again, but this time in far better spirits than the last time we’d all come here, dirtied, bloodied, and terrified for what the Kelpies had shown us. Though it had only been a couple of weeks since our run-in with the Kelpies and Zara’s fall, a lot had changed.
And one of the changes was that I, apparently, cooked now. Well,wecooked. Torin had taken one look at my panicked face as I’d stared down at the mounds of brussels sprouts and bacon and had taken pity on me. Together, we’d prepared roastedbrussels sprouts with crispy bacon and gorgonzola, and I could only pray that it gained Sophie’s approval.
“Liora?” My eyes snapped to Sophie’s face, and I realized she’d said my name twice now. “The sprouts?”
“Right here,” I said, rushing forward. I carefully placed the dish on the table and stepped back, heart pounding, as she lifted the corner of tinfoil and checked inside.
“You did great,” Sophie said, beaming at me. “Looks roasted to perfection.”
“Oh thank the goddess,” I murmured, stepping back as she turned a laser eye on Orla and Finlay.
“Don’t say you’ve let me down on biscuits now.”
“Right, so here’s the thing…” Orla said, stepping forward with a mutinous expression on her face. “Your biscuits are not real biscuits, so there was a tad bit of confusion?—”
“You didn’t…” Sophie sucked in a breath.
“Oh I have an idea what’s coming.” Willow exchanged a look with Lia, who only shook her head sadly.
“It’s about to be a blood bath.”
“What’s happening?” Torin whispered in my ear, wrapping an arm around my waist and handing me back my champagne glass.
“I think Sophie’s going to fight Orla? It’s hard to tell.”
“I’ve got money on Sophie,” Lachlan said, coming up next to us. “She’s efficient and terrifying.”
“I don’t know, mate,” Munroe, Lia’s partner and owner of Common Gin, leaned in. “I’ve seen Orla on the job site, and she’s scary good with power tools.”
“As you requested.” Orla raised her voice and uncovered her tray. “Biscuits.”
Sophie sucked in a breath and we all leaned forward.
“Oh shit,” Kaia said, turning to give Willow and Lia a knowing look.