Page 22 of A Cowboy Sugar Cookie Kiss
I make a distasteful snort sound that I don’t recognize or regret.
“Do you think this is funny?” Cole turns to me. Egg slime slides down his nose.
I shake my head. “No.” But the word comes out in a laugh. I slap my hand over my mouth.
My grams and Fred have stopped their warring food fight to watch Cole’s reaction.
I want to be angry. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m furious at the mess. The hundreds of dollars in ingredients are spoiled. The kitchen is destroyed. But most of all, today’s cookies are contaminated. They’re not presentable or eatable for the fundraiser. Which adds hours to our baking.
So, yeah, I’m furious. But the look on Cole’s face distracts me from my anger. Cool, chill, and relaxed Cole is about to erupt. I take the food from his arms and deposit it on the counter with mine.
“You got a little something right here.” I wave my finger in front of my face.
He glowers.
“Let me help you.” I skim my finger up the bridge of his nose. The egg slurps over my finger.
I laugh.
He doesn’t.
“He started it.” White dust coats my grams eyelashes as she blinks.
“She started it.” Fred coated in white from head to toe. Like a life size snowman.
“Are you both five-year-olds?” Cole’s frustrated voice booms through the kitchen. “He started it. She started it. Who the hell’s gonna be cleaning this mess up? It sure as shit ain’t us.”
The old people share a glare.
Cole points at the counters and racks. “And look at those cookies.” All our gazes fall on the baked and unbaked cookies sprinkled with broken egg shells. “You’ve ruined all of today’s work. Y’all plan on staying up until midnight to bake this again?”
“I’m feeling rather spent. I need a nap.” My gram’s hits Fred’s hand with a rolling pin. He releases her apron.
“Whoa, no, no, no ...” They ignore me.
Grams tiptoes on the tiles as if the floor has clean areas to step.
“Me too.” Fred stretches his arms in the air. The handfuls of white powder sprinkle from his fists.
“Granddad, you’re not taking off.”
Fred’s cowboy boots stomp straight through the mess. “Son, you’re younger than me. You can handle a little upheaval. Besides, a lil’ flour ain’t nothin’ compared to birthing a calf.” He pats Cole’s shoulder.
The two older folks have a scuffle over whose takeout belongs to whom.
“You’ll need to hit up the grocery store after you’re done tidying up,” Fred says, heading to the door.
“You still have the ingredient list in your phone, right Maggie?” Grams trudges by me.
“Yes, but there’s no way —”
She rubs my arm. “Good girl.”
The door shuts behind them.
“Wow.” I take in the mess around us. “I can’t believe they just left.”
“Should we let them go upstairs alone?” Cole peeks into the hallway.
