All was quiet in the house. With the absence of Isadora, Sunny, and Klaus, Violet was able to enjoy a quiet evening at home with Quigley and Duncan as they prepared dinner, Beatrice sound asleep upstairs.
Duncan was busy dicing the anchovies with the radio on, tuned into the true crime podcast; Quigley was chopping the parsley and mincing garlic; and Violet was making the pasta with the newly-repaired pasta maker, smiling contently to herself. Though possibly crude to be making a dinner the Baudelaire siblings once served to Count Olaf many years ago, the cruel man was long dead, and Violet had felt a craving for it earlier that day, and when the two Quagmire brothers hadn't voiced any complaints, the three got to work with buying and prepping everything they needed.
With Sunny out with Klaus, Quigley worked on the parsley, giving Klaus and Isadora enough time to check out the new library down the road opened by Olivia and Jacques Snicket.
With the kitchen warm with the smells of simmering sauce and the fireplace crackling in the far corner, Violet felt more at peace than she had in a long time.
"Is the pasta almost ready?" Duncan asked, head angled her way but eyes never leaving the tomatoes he was dicing.
Violet hummed her affirmation, struggling with the handle of the pasta maker. Seems the gears need a little grease, she mused, attempting to put more weight to get it to go down. Any more pressure and she was afraid the pasta might end up on the floor.
"Here, let me," Quigley said from her side, long hair pulled into a short ponytail. His hands smelled of garlic as he gently shifted her out of the way, taking the handle and turning his body a certain way. With a small shriek of metal, the handle spun wildly in his grip, and the last of the pasta came through. "When you've been on the road as long as I have, you learn a thing or two," Quigley told Violet easily at her questioning look.
"Thanks." She grinned.
"I got the anchovies and tomatoes," Duncan called from his corner of the kitchen, tossing the ingredients into the pain.
"Good, I'll start on the pasta," Violet said, grabbing the plat of uncooked pasta and scooping it into the pot, water rising to a boiling point a moment later. She quickly turned the heat down, watching in relief as the water went down and the pasta cooked.
Adding the last of the ingredients to the pan, Quigley took a seat down at the island, and the other two joined him, the chocolate pudding for dessert already cooling in the fridge.
The three talked quietly as they waited, easy smiles on their faces and hands joined beneath the counter. They talked about anything and everything in those few short minutes, relaxed with the droning of the radio in the corner and the humming of the stove. In minutes, the sauce and pasta were done, and the front door opened and closed, the missing siblings standing in the entryway.
Even at seven years old, Sunny still clung to her siblings' arms, hand clutching Klaus' index finger with a peculiarly-colored rock in hand.
"Is that pasta puttanesca I smell?" Klaus asked, setting down his bag stuffed to the brim with books. Violet could only glimpse a title here and there, with The Books of Unusual Knowledge and The Signature of All Things and What Are People For? at the top. Isadora herself had a number of couplets and poems in her own bag, her free hand in Sunny's. Her and Klaus' faces were slightly flushed, and Violet exchanged a knowing look with the Quagmire brothers.
"There's also chocolate pudding in the fridge," Duncan answered easily. Klaus just flushed harder at the looks, and he quickly left the room with his bookbag, calling out, "I'll go wake Beatrice," behind him.
The five in the kitchen laughed, and soon dinner was served.
Life was better, now, and they would never take each other for granted.
