Page 25 of Reaching Roland

He smiled. “Thank you, Daddy. I will as soon as I’m done making our dinner.”

I dropped his foot gently, stood up, and rubbed my hands together. “What can I do to help?”

Kenny pointed at the front door. “Go back out there and fix the latch while I finish. I want to surprise you.”

Rubbing my chin, I glanced down at his poor discolored foot. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Leaning on the arm of the couch, he stood up, then pushed on my chest. “I’ll be fine. Go. I planned a fun meal.” He poked out his bottom lip like I’d seen Indie do to Cameron a million times. I’d never been able to figure out why my son gave in to him every single time until now. It was adorable.

“Alright, but if it bothers you too much?—”

He shoved on my chest again. “I know. I know. Wait for you. I promise I will.”

My gaze moved from him toward the small room with the exhaust fan running. “Don’t look!” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the front door. “It’ll be ready soon enough.” Laughing, I let myself be shoved out the door and went down to fix the latch.

When I was done, I put my tools back into my vehicle and then hit the latch. The gate swung open easily, and I smiled at a job well done. Now I wouldn’t have to worry about him lugging stuff in and out and having to put it down to fiddle with the stupid thing. I ran up the stairs and opened the door, sticking my head in and saying, “Knock. Knock.”

Kenny darted out. “I’m almost ready for you.”

Holding up my hands, I asked, “Can I use the bathroom and wash up?”

“Yes. That’s a great idea. It’s straight back and to the right.”

It amazed me how big the apartment seemed once inside. Kenny had arranged his furniture well, giving the small space an open feel. The interior of his bathroom made me grin. It was so fun and so Kenny. His shower curtain was white with a pattern of pink, teal, and dark blue hair-cutting shears, with a teal rug,toilet cover, and a cup and toothbrush holder on the counter. The hand towel hanging on the wall beside the sink matched the shower curtain.

The closed door across from the bathroom ran parallel to the living room, so I assumed it was his bedroom. I wondered if it was messy with an unmade bed or if he kept it as neat and tidy as his area in LaBelle’s and his living room. “Can I come out?” I called.

“Yes.” He bounced into view, sans apron in white shorts and a red short-sleeve crew neck with white polka dots. Vanna White style, he held his arms out toward the little four-seater table. “Dinner is served.”

Smiling, I walked over to the table where he’d laid two serving trays with crepes cut into neat triangles on them. “Did you make those, shortcake?” I asked, completely impressed.

“Yep,” he said, looking extremely proud of himself. “That’s why I was covered with flour. I prepped the ingredients for the filling this morning before I went in, and I asked our receptionist not to fill my last slot of the day so I’d have time to come home and make the crepes from scratch.”

I whistled. “Very impressive.”

His grin widened, taking up his face in the most adorable way. He pointed at the platter closest to us. “Those are garlic shrimp. Thankfully, I didn’t have to check and ask if you were allergic to seafood since you talked about making shrimp scampi on Indie’s birthday. The other ones are stuffed with chicken and spinach.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect you to go through all this trouble.”

He waved me off. “It was fun. I don’t have anyone to cook for most of the time, and it’s no fun to make something like this for just myself. Oh.” He ran to his refrigerator, and with his back to me, he pulled out one more large plate. “And for dessert…” He turned, revealing strawberry crepes. “I have whipped cream to put on them when we’re ready, too.”

“You’ve outdone yourself.”

His cheeks pinkened again, and while he put the dessert back into the fridge, I pulled out his chair. “Let’s eat.”

He glanced from the chair, to me, and back again before hesitantly crossing the small space and sitting down. Once I pushed him in, I rested my hands on his shoulders, leaned down, and whispered, “Thank you, shortcake.”

He smiled wide down at his empty plate. “It was my pleasure, Daddy.”

“Do you need ice for your foot? Maybe we should eat in the living room so you can prop it up.”

Kenny laughed. “Sit down. It feels better already. You’re being a big ol’ worrywart.”

Deciding I’d check it myself after we ate, I sat down and dug in.

Dinner ended up as delicious as it had looked. “Thank you, shortcake.” I threw my napkin onto my plate and stretched my arms over my head.

“You're welcome.” Kenny picked a lollipop from a jar in the middle of the table, unwrapped it, and stuck it in the side of his cheek.

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