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The shell gave way under his fingers with a satisfying crack. A golden yolk slipped free, tumbling lazily into the modest ceramic bowl beneath it. Engineer paused for a second, his eyes narrowing as he examined the yolk for any signs of breakage or stray bits of shell. Satisfied with its golden smoothness, he flicked the shell into the compost pail. Inside, the pail was a vibrant collage of discarded sandwich crusts, dark coffee grounds, and the bright vegetables peels, creating a colorful tapestry of kitchen leftovers.
With a practiced swipe, he wiped his hands on the apron tied haphazardly around his waist—a garish pink adorned with tiny, dancing cupcakes that clashed horribly with his plaid pajama pants—and reached for the next egg. Its cool, smooth surface fitting snugly in his palm. A gentle tap against the edge of the mixing bowl later, and the shell fractured, letting the golden yolk and clear whites slip out with a soft plop, joining the growing pool of yellow in the bowl.
The rest of the first pie dough ingredients—flour sifted to a powdery mound, chilled cubes of butter waited patiently in their bowls. Engineer reached for a pinch of salt and sprinkled it over the flour, watching as the tiny grains disappeared into its powdery depths.
Across the room, Scout stood by the kitchen counter battling a particularly obstinate Melrose apple. Its glossy red skin gleamed mockingly under the warm glow of the kitchen light, defying every stroke of his peeling knife. The blade caught on yet another tough patch, skidding sideways before nicking the edge of his thumb. He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, quickly lifting his hand to inspect the wound.
“I’ll never get this off,” he flexed his fingers around the knife’s worn wooden handle until his knuckles turned pale. “If I could just use a—”
“No! No, no no!” Engineer’s voice cut through the kitchen like a knife sharper than the one Scout was holding. Meanwhile, he was whisking the the egg mixture vigorously with a comically small fork. Its tines barely visible against his broad, calloused fingers, like a giant wielding a toothpick. “We’re doing this the old-fashioned way, Scout. That’s the whole point. No gadgets, no shortcuts. Just you, the knife, and the apple.”
Scout stood frozen, mouth agape, as words failed him momentarily. Blinking slowly at Engineer, he carefully lowered the apple onto the worn wooden counter top. “You mean to tell me that we’re going to sit here and peel every single one of these apples by hand? You realize there are about twenty-five of them sitting in that basket over there, right?”
Unfazed, Engineer deftly poured a blend of cold water and vinegar into the beaten egg mixture before him. The liquids intermingled, creating a mesmerizing swirl of patterns before settling into smooth uniformity. “Twenty-five? That’s nothing,” he remarked casually. “Back in my day, we’d peel fifty apples before breakfast and still have time to milk the cow.”
Scout arched an eyebrow. “Your day? You make it sound like you were churning butter with a hand crank while riding a dinosaur. I’m pretty sure ‘your day’ wasn’t that long ago—you’re only twelve years older than me.”
“Twelve years wiser,” Engineer corrected, tapping his temple with a flour-covered finger that blended seamlessly with his graying hairline. “And you’ll thank me for it when that pie comes out perfect—flaky crust, rich filling… none of those machine shortcuts ruining it.”
Scout let out a groan so theatrical it echoed off the kitchen walls. Leaning dramatically against the counter as if the weight of twenty-five unpeeled apples had suddenly descended upon his shoulders. “You’re impossible,” he said, setting the knife down with a defeated clatter. “You know that? Absolutely impossible.”
“Maybe,” Engineer conceded with an unapologetic shrug, the corners of his mouth curling into a slight smile. “But I’m also right.”
“Honestly, who even needs this much pie?” Scout said after a moment’s pause, his eyes narrowing skeptically at the basket overflowing with apples, as if they were conspiring against him.
Engineer paused mid-whisk and looked up sharply, as though Scout had just suggested canceling Christmas all together. “Who needs this much pie? The entire team, that’s who.”
Scout stared at him blankly, before picking up the knife and jabbing it toward Engineer like a fencing foil. “Fine, fine. But when my fingers start cramping, and I’ve accidentally turned half these apples into potato-shaped lumps, don’t blame me if your ‘perfect’ pie looks like it was made by a toddler with mittens on.”
A chuckle escaped Engineer as he shook his head. “Scout, if your apple slices come out looking like potatoes, I’ll eat my hat. And trust me, you don’t want to see me eat that thing—it’s been through enough already.”
After another sigh —the kind that seemed to come from somewhere deep within his core—Scout got to work on the apples again. This time, he adjusted his grip on the knife and started peeling in slow, deliberate strokes. Pieces of skin fell onto the counter in uneven curls, and after a few moments, he managed to peel a clean spiral around the apple.
Triumphantly, he held it up for Engineer to see. “You know, if we survive this apple massacre, I’m definitely buying an electric peeler. Just saying.”
“Might as well just buy a pre-made pie while you’re at it. Where’s the pride in that, Scout?” He gestured grandly with the whisk, sending a few droplets of liquid flying onto the counter. “Where’s the craftsmanship?”
Scout snorted derisively but reached for another apple anyway. “Craftsmanship went out the window when I realized I’d be peeling enough apples to feed a small army.” he quipped dryly as another curl of apple skin joins its companions on the counter. “Next thing I know, you’ll have me churning butter by hand or milking a cow in the backyard.”
Engineer paused thoughtfully, tapping one flour-coated finger against his chin as though seriously considering it. “Well,” he said slowly, drawing out the word just enough to make Scout groan preemptively, “we do have that old butter churn in the shed…”
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“You sure did,” Engineer replied cheerfully while shaping the dough into a perfect disc.
Scout shot an exasperated look at Engineer, who was now humming an off-key rendition of The Butter Churn Blues. Muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “medieval baking methods.”
Engineer glanced over, catching the tail end of Scout’s muttered complaint, and chuckled before giving the dough one final pat and covering it with a clean kitchen towel to rest in the refrigerator. Wiping his flour-dusted hands on his faded apron, he crossed the room to join Scout at the counter.
Grabbing an apple and a knife of his own, he flashed Scout an easy grin. “Alright,” he said brightly. “Let’s tackle these apples together—team effort.”
Scout eyed him suspiciously. “You’re just saying that because you’re bored of kneading dough.”
“Guilty,” Engineer admitted nonchalantly. “But also, I don’t want you to suffer alone. That’s what family’s for, right? Shared misery?”
“Shared misery,” Scout repeated dryly. “Great family motto. We should get it embroidered on a pillow.”
Engineer barked out a laugh, the sound loud and sudden enough to make Scout jolt, nearly sending an apple rolling off the counter. “Don’t give me ideas,” Engineer said, wagging the knife at him. “I’ll do it. You know I will. And you’ll be the one stuck sewing it, crafty fingers and all.”
Scout rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he focused on peeling another apple, this time managing to keep the spiral mostly intact. The two fell into an easy rhythm after that. Their knives moving in tandem as they peeled and sliced. The pile of apples gradually diminished, replaced by neat mounds of pale yellow slices that glistened faintly under the kitchen light.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Engineer as he worked steadily, slicing through the skin ridiculously quick. It was hard not to notice how Engineer’s slices were perfectly even, each one a mirror image of the last, while his own were… well, let’s just say they had character. Some were thick and uneven; others bore jagged edges where his knife had slipped or hesitated.
Engineer glanced over at one point but said nothing—at least not immediately. Instead, he waited until they’d finished peeling the last apple.
“There,” Engineer announced, surveying their work with pride. “Not bad for an afternoon’s work, huh?”
Scout followed Engineer’s gaze but didn’t share quite the same level of enthusiasm. His eyes lingered on his own pile of apple slices—an assortment so haphazard it looked like someone had given a toddler free rein with a dull blade—and then shifted back to Engineer’s flawless creations with thinly veiled envy.
“I mean,” Scout said slowly, dragging out the words as if tasting them for sarcasm first, “if you ignore the fact that mine look like they were hacked apart by a bear with a butter knife… sure.”
Without thinking twice, he reached out and clapped Scout on the shoulder—leaving behind a faint dusting of flour. “Oh, come on,” Engineer said. “They’re rustic! Adds charm to the pie! People love that kind of thing nowadays—it’s ‘artisanal.’”
“Artisanal?” Scout echoed, brushing the flour off his shoulder. “More like accidentally mauled. But hey, if it tastes good, I guess I’ll let it slide.”
“That’s the spirit!” Engineer beamed, grabbing a handful of cinnamon from a nearby jar and sprinkling it liberally over the apple slices. “Now, let’s get this filling prepped before we lose steam. The dough’s probably getting lonely in the fridge.”