"Wait here," Professor Ken said, running up the stairs as Carl entered the house.
"Okay…" Carl replied, walking to the dining room and taking his seat. A plate of pancakes covered with chocolate syrup sat in front of him. He picked up his fork and took a bite with a soft smile.
After his mother died, his father had tried for years to replicate her special birthday pancakes. It had been their birthday tradition for as long as he remembered. While his father's versions were always delicious, he never got the taste right. Because truthfully, they weren't supposed to taste that good. His mother had been a terrible cook, and her pancakes were the only things that were barely edible. The odd, slightly burnt, unevenly cooked, chocolate-flavoured taste had become something they missed but couldn't get.
By the time his father returned, Carl was almost done with the pancakes. He had been eating them with big bites, not even bothering to drink water.
