Nora's POV
"Silver flatware? Really?" Antonia's voice carries disbelief as she enters the kitchen, brandishing a spoon like evidence.
I glance up from the potatoes I'm working on, my hands covered in the creamy mixture. "That's what we normally use."
"Your glassware has gold accents, and there's gold silverware in the drawer."
"You're absolutely right." I push my hair away from my face with the back of my wrist, checking the clock. Less than an hour remains before everyone arrives for Thanksgiving dinner, and I'm running behind schedule.
Actually, I'm significantly behind schedule.
Typically, we divide the cooking responsibilities, with Charlette handling the turkey every year. This time, I decided to tackle everything myself, which has made the past two days blur together in a whirlwind of preparation. James has enjoyed helping me cook, and we may have gotten carried away with the amount of food we've prepared.
