Page 2 of Fairy Cakes in Winter

“Great name,” Theodore enthused. “I had a border collie named Scottie McMuffin when I was a kid. He was a real firecracker. Every time I tossed a ball to him, he’d fetch it, race the perimeter of the vineyard, and circle around to drop it at my feet. Just watching him go was exhausting.”

I inclined my head in polite acknowledgment, biting back a stream of questions: Why McMuffin? You grew up on a vineyard? And where is that peppermint scent coming from?

Also…when did you take Ambien, and when should it kick in?

However, any of those inquiries might lead to full-scale conversation, and I wasn’t in the mood for that. So I settled for, “I bet.”

“He was a wonderful dog. I was inconsolable when he died, but that’s a tad selfish of me since he lived to be sixteen. Good innings, as my grandfather says.” He yawned as he pointed at the window. “Do you want the shade down? It doesn’t matter to me. I have a mask.”

“It’s dark anyway. Might as well close it,” I said, fiddling with the on-off switch on my headphones.

Theodore closed the shade and readjusted his mask. “All right. See you in London, Scott.”

I stared at him warily for a long moment, my gaze stalling on his parted lips. I half expected him to pop up with another comment or two, but he was quiet. Blissfully quiet.

Sweet.

It lasted for a grand total of thirty minutes. The flight attendants wanted to make sure everyone fastened up and was safety-conscious. I regretfully had to nudge my companion awake so he could prove he was wearing his seat belt. After a quick oddball recap of his Ambien-induced dream featuring a house floating in the San Francisco Bay, Theodore dozed again.

Then they wanted to feed us.

Theodore hadn’t drifted off yet, so he was able to decline his meal, opting to listlessly pick chocolate chips from a Kind bar. He struck up a halfhearted conversation about the nutritional content in protein bars, but his eyelids were heavy and every other word sounded like gibberish.

I tuned him out as I polished off my chicken with rice and mixed greens with a glass of white wine, skipping dessert. The baker in me couldn’t look at the wobbly, too-yellow custard without cringing. I thought about offering it to Theodore, but friendly overtures might be misconstrued as an invitation to chat and we still had seven-plus hours to go, so…no thanks.

Once the meals were cleared, he pulled his hoodie over his head and slouched deep into the leatherette seat. Nice enough guy, but I hoped like fuck he went to sleep. I was done-zo. I wanted nothing more than to rot my brain with a few hours’ worth of reruns and movies I’d already seen a few times.

I got my wish. And I had to say, after a couple of hours and a mini marathon ofThe Office, this wasn’t so bad. A little peace and quiet, high above the world with no immediate worries and no one who needed anything from me? I’d take it.

I navigated the entertainment menu, cranking up the volume on an ancient Boz Scaggs song when the plane shook slightly. It didn’t raise my blood pressure, but it gave me a reason to check the time. According to the in-flight map, we now had six hours to go. I could watch a movie and still get some rest or—

“Wh-what was that?” Theodore tore his mask off, sat up straight, and white-knuckled my forearm.

I glanced sideways and lowered my headphones. “What was…what?”

“The-the…up, the down, the shaking. Did you feel it?” he asked, raking his teeth over his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He clutched my arm again. “That.”

The plane rattled on cue. A little shake, a little roll. Pretty normal stuff. No seat belt warnings lit up, and the pilot didn’t jump on the intercom to inform us of impending weather. No big deal.

“Just some turbulence. Nothing to worry about,” I replied kindly.

“Oh. Right. Yes, thank you. Sorry to both—” The plane rattled as it crested a stream of air. And another. “Oh, my God.”

This time, he dug his nails in, gripping me in a viselike hold. Fear gave him superhuman strength.

Ouch.

I winced as I gently loosened his fingers. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s very normal.”

“Normal? You’re sure? I hoped to avoid this. I studied our flight pattern and the weather before we departed, and there was no mention of any likely disturbances,” Theodore reported, licking his lips.

“Well, Mother Nature does what she wants. Wind pockets pop up every so often, but the good news is that we’re cruising at thirty-eight thousand feet, so we won’t feel—”

“Thirty-eight what? No, stop.” He lifted his forefinger and closed his eyes for a beat. “No, thank you. I’d prefer not to contemplate that we’re basically hanging by a thread in the stratosphere.”

I chuckled softly. “You’re safe as can be. There’s a lot of physics at work in flying an airplane. They don’t wing it.”

He smiled distractedly at the lame pun and wrung his hands together. “Right. Yes, thanks.”