“Okay. How much cinnamon?”
“Two teaspoons.”
He carefully measured the first one.
Some spilled onto the counter.
I handed him a damp cloth, and he wiped it up without being asked.
Then he pushed the notebook closer so we could both see.
“What’s next?”
I read the next instruction aloud.
He picked up the wooden spoon, steadied the mixing bowl with his other hand, and began stirring.
