Page 111 of Lucky Shot
Aidan’s mouth turns down at the corners, but he still somehow smiles. “Last night I saw Grandpa eat an entire bag of chips and then hide the evidence before Dad got home.”
And that sounds just like Mike.
“Well, some healthy food is probably better than none.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Aidan shrugs one lanky shoulder.
He goes back to strumming the guitar and I take a chance on the food. It’s actually pretty good. Nick Galaxy can cook. Who knew?
After I eat, I get back to work. One of the many things I love about writing is that I can do it anywhere. Especially when I get stuck. I move from standing at the kitchen, to sitting on the living room floor, to the front porch, back to the kitchen. I keep hoping that the change of scenery will unlock the missing pieces to finish this book.
I’m about to run a bath and see if soaking in the tub will help when Aidan hits a chord that makes my eyes cross.
He grunts in frustration. “I suck at this shit!”
As soon as the outburst is out of his lips, he looks over at me like he’s expecting me to admonish him.
“Sorry.” Aidan’s face scrunches up in apology as he lets his hand fall away from the strings.
“You don’t need to apologize.” I lean back from my computer screen. “I just deleted an entire page that was almost entirely describing the smell of hockey pads.”
I scrunch up my face in the same way he had, and a laugh erupts out of him. I join in.
“Some days are hard. It makes us appreciate the good ones more.”
He looks unconvinced.
“My mom says that. I have no idea if it’s true,” I admit.
“I’m never going to get this song right.”
“Of course you will. You just need a break. You know what else my mom says?”
He grins in that half-smile way his dad does, showing off the same dimple.
“When all else fails, bake something.”
I move to the fridge to inspect the ingredients on hand. It’s not much, but I can work with it.
I preheat the oven and pull out everything we’re going to need. Aidan hasn’t moved from the couch, but he watches me.
“Are you going to help or what?” I ask him.
He sets his guitar down and gets up, walking slowly to stand on the other side of the counter.
“I don’t know how to bake.”
“It’s easy. Do you have any allergies?”
He shakes his head.
“Okay.” I nod my head toward the sink. “Wash your hands and then I’ll show you how to make one of my favorite cookies.”
He’s hesitant at first, cracking eggs and measuring out the flour, but by the time we’re scooping the dough onto a cookie sheet, Aidan is all smiles.
“What’s your favorite dessert?” I ask him after I set a timer.
“Ice cream,” he says quickly.
