>>1347In spite of his exile, Allendale still had a good rapport with his mother's family, namely a set of twin cousins who ran a successful pâtisserie spanning across the country, France, and New York City. Cassandra the business and accounting, and Liam the patissier; together they created their empire and offered a shoulder to their downtrodden cousin.
Hopping to the train, he made his way to Liam's workshop, put on an apron, and shaped the proofed dough for its final rise. He chatted with the helpers, having his first cup of coffee of the day, savoring every bitter note with a dollop of cream and honey. He greeted Liam with a smile and poured his cousin a cup the way he liked it: no cream with too much sugar.
"I'm not paying you," Liam said with a laugh, sipping on his cup.
"I figured I could work some shifts to pay a favor."
"Make me macarons and we'll talk."
"Not with this weather."
"It's just a fucking cookie, Danny. Don't let those baking blogs talking about how mango chutney reminds them of their dead nan from Wales tell you otherwise." Liam nudged Allendale's shoulder. "So, what's up?"
Allendale stared at the floor, spinning the band around his left ring finger. "Well…"