𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 | carlisle cullen (2)

(𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞) spilt flour

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ESTE HAD PRESUMED THAT BAKING WOULD BE AS EASY AS COOKING. Turns out she was royally wrong. Her plan had been to make something sweet for Bella, an apology for the way that she had talked to her. Este wasn't sure how long she'd been incorrect about the girls standing towards her but she had been out of line yelling at her despite the condition Bella was in.

She'd picked out a cook book in the library and been filled with optimism that only came with distraction. There was no pretending her mind wasn't a mess, that it wasn't falling apart but Este knew that she still had time and she felt it was only right to dedicate that time into ensuring that Bella made it out of her pregnancy. After that, they could fix her. Este knew she could hold on, she had to.

Therefore she had been ensuring that she didn't give her mind even a second to think about cracking. If the pressure got harder or her isolation dug deeper Este could risk the idea of losing more time and time was one thing she felt she didn't have anymore. It was strange going from eternity to feeling as though she was living inside of an hourglass but life was complex like that.

The book had been extremely straight forwards and the pictures had looked delicious. Este could not remember what cake tasted like. She imagined sweetness even if she did not understand it. When closing her mind she wondered if it crumbled or melted on the tongue and whether it was smooth or rough to the touch. Este did not know.

However she enjoyed the pastel designs of the book and the way each picture showed perfect frosting in swirls and bags filled perfectly with powder pink icing. It was all rather beautiful, an art. Este felt she had mastered cooking. The kitchen was hers and she controlled it perfectly and baking was the same only sweet instead of savoury, right?

Turns out this was not the case. Some of the beauty with cooking was that nothing was entirely precise. A dash of oil a sprinkling of salt. The measurements were what was made of them by the artist and more or less would not drastically change the weight, flavour or form. Maybe that's why Este enjoyed it so much, she didn't need to be dictated by words that were not her own.

Baking needed precision and perfection that Este was not finding inside measuring cups and spoons. It started off alright. She poured flour into a bowl on the scales and copied the routine with sugar and butter. When mixed together it was creamy, a pale yellow concoction that smelt rather dreamy.

However it quickly became too stiff. Este wasn't sure whether she had mixed it too much or whether she added the wrong amounts. She tried to reverse the mistake. Adding more flour and when that didn't work, butter. Este thought her magic in the kitchen may help her, she stirred in milk but then everything seemed to go even worse and Este began to think that she may have to start all over again.

She was standing staring inside the glass bowl at the sludge that she had created, lost in the hope that her burning gaze may put right whatever mistakes that she had concocted. That's when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist.

Este's face broke out into a smile as she felt Carlisle place his chin on her shoulder to stare at whatever she was seeing, he held her very close to him.

"How's it going?" He asked lightly.

"Terribly" Este turned to face him, his hands on the counter at her sides.

"I thought you were great at this stuff" Carlisle pondered.

"Apparently not"