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Katie’s Point of View
Dinner settled into its rhythm quickly, the way good dinners do. Conversation flowed without effort, plates warmed the table, and no one felt the need to perform. It felt so good to have everyone back together — like family.
The pigeon pie looked nothing like I’d imagined. I’d expected something heavy and rustic, dark and dense, but Elsie Bradshaw’s pastry was a thing of quiet confidence. The crust was pale gold, impossibly thin and delicately puffy, layered rather than thick, breaking cleanly under the knife with a crisp, then soft, buttery sigh. Steam escaped as it opened, carrying the scent of juniper, thyme, and slow-cooked meat that had been treated with respect rather than fuss.