Miley's POV: The smell of bubbling fruit, and the delicious smell of caramelized sugar. It was barely nine o'clock, and the sunlight filtered through the lace curtains of the kitchen, casting soft patterns on the tiled floor. Tulio was perched on the counter beside me, an oversized apron hanging off his tiny frame like a superhero cape. His fingers were sticky with jam as he helped stir the pot, eyes bright with excitement. “Okay, now stir gently…” I said, handing him the wooden spoon back. “We don’t want to splash molten strawberries on either of us, right?” “Yes, Chef Angel!” He saluted dramatically, making me laugh. “Ah, is that so? Then, Chef Tulio… your mission is to not spill jam all over the counter, either. Do you accept it?’ He saluted. “Yes, ma’am! But if it accidentally falls into my mouth, I’m not responsible.” I laughed, ruffling his already messy hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” He giggled and looked up at me. “Are we gonna make more pies for Uncle Ni
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