“The end.”
“Momma,” her daughter said. “There’s not really a house made of candy in the woods, is there?” Concern made her eyes wide.
A laugh escaped. “It wouldn’t last very long if there was, now would it?”
“No.” Her son cut in matter-of-factly. “All the animals would come and eat it.”
“Indeed they would. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s only a story meant to pass a little bit of time between supper and bed. Which is where the both of you need to be.”
“Already?” Her son’s smile faded into a pout.
“Already,” she said and stood up. “Kisses and then into bed. I’ll tuck you both in shortly.”
They sighed but accepted a hug and a kiss. Already she could tell her son was sleepy, his steps shuffling over the floor. He might protest bedtime the most, but he rarely stayed awake more than a few minutes passed it.
She tucked him in first and wasn’t surprised when he was almost immediately asleep. “Good night my gingerbread boy,” she murmured and then crept over to his sister’s bed.
Her daughter lay awake, staring at the ceiling. “You’re sure there’s no house made of candy?” her daughter asked and she chuckled as she sat on the bed.
“I’m sure. Did the story scare you too much?”
“I’m not scared. Not much.”
She laughed and bent down, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s soft hair. “I promise. No houses made of candy and no greedy bakers looking to gobble up sweet children, either. Besides. You know I’m a baker. Do you think I could make a house out of candy?”
Her daughter smiled and relaxed a little. “Maybe,” she said and rolled over. “Your baking is always so tasty.”
“And that’s why it never lasts long around here. Good night my gingerbread girl.”
She slipped out, looking at them for a few minutes before she closed the door.
A sigh escaped as she moved to the kitchen. All too soon it would be time to get up and start the morning’s baking.
For now however, she moved to the ancient brick oven and looked in at the ball of dough she’d left rising.
“Perfect,” she said as she pulled it out. “You don’t need to be all that sweet, but just a little bit of cinnamon and some sugar.”
She worked with care, her hands folding and pulling the dough into the perfect shape. Skill and practice made it possible to form ears and a tail
Finished, she smiled as she opened her cabinet for one last tiny bottle. It was nearly empty, and to anyone else it looked like plain sugar. There would be just enough left to sprinkle over a single baked good.
Just enough for a cinnamon roll.
The last few sparkling grains tipped out onto the cinnamon roll before she eased the sheet into the ancient oven to bake.
Her boy had wanted a pet for so long and her daughter had loved seeing the butcher’s cat.
The problem was, she had to be careful what she allowed them to be exposed to. As her son had pointed out, some animals would happily gobble down candy and sweets. She knew more than a few people would.
A faint meow from the oven and she looked in seeing the cat as it began rising properly and turning golden brown. It would still be a while, but in the morning she would have a perfect cat for her sweet children.
“A cinnamon roll cat for a gingerbread boy and a gingerbread girl.”
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The Written Vixen 