Page 120 of Pucked Up Plans
Forcing my feet into action, I join Walsh in the kitchen. He hands me a brown paper package with a bow tied with a string.
“What’s this?”
“A gift. Open it.”
I scan his face for hints of what it could be, but his expression remains stoic. So unlike him. Ideas of what could be inside dance across my mind as I rip into it.
“Nice wrapping job.”
“Millie’s good for more than just food and baths.”
I love how he’s got no shame about the fact his mom does so much for him. Having met Millie, if she felt he was taking advantage of the situation, she’d nip it in the bud. He may be her “baby,” but she’s not afraid to speak her mind when being taken advantage of. And if I had to guess, she loves being able to dote on her granddaughter.
Inside the package I find a plastic bag, giving nothing away what the gift is. I discard the wrapping and dig into the plastic, pulling out two aprons, the words “Head Chef” on the front of mine and “Junior Chef” on the second, smaller one. Matching aprons for Aubrey and me.
“Walsh,” I breathe out, words escaping me at this truly touching gift. “These are adorable. Aubrey’s going to love it.”
“I’m more interested in your opinion,” he retorts quickly.
Again, not heeding where we are, I throw my arms around his neck, my lips planting a kiss on his cheek.
“I love it. This is so sweet of you.”
Our moment’s cut short by Millie entering the kitchen, but Walsh doesn’t drop my hands. He holds them tighter.
“My boy did good.” She motions to the aprons where I discarded them on the table when I went in for my hug.
“Amazing. You’re doing something right with him.”
“Hey,” Walsh protests, his gaze flittering between his mom and me. “I have a lot of noble qualities. I don’t always show them in the right ways.”
“That’s why we’re here, right, Tate? To show him the error of his ways?”
My sight lobs from Millie to my boyfriend, who’s expectantly waiting for an answer. “That, and for a few other reasons.” If his mother wasn’t standing right here, our lips would be meeting. If the girls weren’t down the hall, a few other parts might do the same. Clapping my hands, I say, “Okay, enough sappy stuff. Let’s get to work. You got the goods, Keeley?”
Walsh groans at my use of his nickname. It gets him. Every. Single. Time. I couldn’t love it more.
He sets out all the ingredients we need to make the donuts while I reduce the apple cider. Thank goodness he bought double the amount the recipe calls for because the smell was too inviting not to pour myself a cup. There’s nothing like pressed fresh apple cider from the farm. It doesn’t compare to the stuff they pass off as cider back home.
I invite the girls down to the kitchen once we’re ready to make the batter. Lennon lags behind Aubrey, who bounds in, ready and willing to get to work. She notices the apron immediately.
“Mommy, where did you get that apron? I love it.” Her fingers reach out to touch the image.
“It’s a present from Walsh. It’s great, right?” She nods. The only telltale sign she’s the least bit jealous is one corner of her mouth remains turned down.
Walsh hands hers over, and the brightest grin illuminates her face. She barely glances at it before she throws herself at him, her cries of, “Thank you, Walsh,” stirring up those emotions again. I’m near tears, devotion filling me like helium in a balloon.
He scoops her into his arm, soaking it up with only a glance over at Lennon, who’s preoccupied with something on her shirt. A part of me wonders how she’ll handle this—her father giving gifts to her friend but not her, her friend currently in her dad’s arms, receiving a great deal of comfort from him.
Walsh makes it a point to help Aubrey with her apron. When Lennon finally notices what’s going on, she asks, “Keeley, where’s mine?”
I suck in a breath, prepared for some sort of meltdown.
A stare-down ensues between father and daughter. “Are you planning on helping in the kitchen anytime?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
I stifle my giggle, but Walsh takes it in stride. “Yours is coming when youplanon helping.”
