“I would be over the moon if you'd make me one of your famous apple cakes." Portia stared at the ingredients her sister had lined up with perfect precision on the scratched countertop. Apples. Butter. Brown sugar. Cordelia cocked her head. "What is it?" "Nothing," Portia said, her voice weak. "It's just that I'm not in the mood to bake, is all." That was a lie. Her fingers itched to dive in, peel, and core, sift the flour, fold in the softened butter and brown sugar. Again and again since moving into the apartment she'd had to ignore her tingling fingertips and the smells of chocolate and vanilla that didn't really exist. She had thrown every bit of food in the apartment away, and it still hadn't helped. "I don't believe you," Cordelia said. "You want to bake like nobody's business. I can see it in your eyes.” ApplesIngredientsSistersBakingPortia CuthcartApple Cakes Book:The Glass Kitchen Source: The Glass Kitchen
“Portia gasped awake with the taste of apples in her mouth- crisp green apples smothered in brown sugar and spice. She needed to bake. Lying tangled in the sheets, she tried to calm her racing heart. She tried to write off this urge, too. It was nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction to moving to the Big Apple. But no matter how forcefully she told herself she had stuffed the knowledge back down, she realized that she hadn't. Not really. When she would have smelled bleach and sundries cotton, it was the scent of apples and buttery caramel that swirled in her mind. The urges to bake and cook were getting stronger, the knowing coming back to life like simple syrup spun into cotton candy.” KnowingApplesUrgesIngredientsSweetsPortia Cuthcart Book:The Glass Kitchen Source: The Glass Kitchen