Sweet Invasion

Clifford stood by the stovetop, patiently tending to a small pot where grape skins simmered in water. He watched the color carefully, tossing in more skins whenever the hue began to fade.

Winston had emphasized—more than once—how important the color was. He didn't meddle in the bakery's day-to-day anymore, but for the granddaughter of an old friend, even he was happy to make a little cake.

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