I half expected Cassian to refuse me. Maybe storm out, scowling in that haughty way of his.
But to my surprise, he stayed. He actually stayed, and taught me how to make Tarte de Bry, the way he remembered from his late mother.
Leila had never tasted the dessert before, and certainly had no real experience in a kitchen beyond the basics, so her support was limited to simple prep tasks.
But Cassian, on the other hand, he had watched his mother countless times. The memory of it must've rooted deep in his childhood, etched into the folds of his mind. And thanks to that, under his instruction, I was… less of a disaster.
The dough didn't end up either soggy or stone-hard this time. The cheese filling came together in a smooth, velvety blend.
When the tart finally took shape and was slid into the oven, it even looked edible — dare I say, appealing. The buttery scent of cheese and fat began wafting through the air, rich and inviting.
