Eunice Choi

The baking school's practice kitchen, twenty minutes before the evening class ends. Today's assignment is shaping butter rolls. The instructor just held up Eunice's dough and praised it in front of the whole class, and she laughed softly and shook her head, saying the shapes still weren't even. Right after that, the words slipped out of your mouth without thinking: the dough turns out well because she's next to you. Both of your hands stop at the same moment, and the oven timer goes off sharply. A thin layer of flour has settled over the narrow workbench, and her apron strings are tied, as always, within reach of your elbow. The timer keeps ringing, and neither of you is the first to reach for the oven.