Page 89 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
“So, you’re not even giving me a hint?” I asked the girls, who were dead set on making cinnamon waffles for me and their father.
Addy stirred the batter while Izzy sprinkled in cinnamon and sugar. “No hints, Mom,” she said. “Izzy, that’s enough. It’s going to taste like a cinnamon donut if you’re not careful.”
“Add some brown sugar,” Jim said, walking into the kitchen behind me. “Trust me. Those waffles will have maple-donut vibes, and everybody knows that’s Dad’s favorite.”
“Good morning, handsome.” I smiled at him, sharp in a suit for his executive meeting with Titus.
“Oh, it’sdefinitelybeen a good morning,” he said, emerald eyes glinting as he bent to kiss my cheek.
“Gross,” Addy groaned.
“I hope that was aimed at Izzy believing in your dad’s made-up maple-donut waffle recipe,” I teased.
“It wasn’t,” Izzy said, fully aligned with her sister’s drama.
“Let me ask you two little elves something.” Jim sat on a barstool beside me, across from the waffle station.
“You already know our answer, Dad,” Addy said, one brow raised.
Jim chuckled. “You don’t even know the question. Suppose your mother and I never kissed, barely spoke, and spent all our time arguing. Or worse, suppose we never had mornings like this together. Is that what you prefer?”
“See? A kiss isn’t so bad,” I told them while they pretended to think it over. “It could besomuch worse.”
“Worse, like when you both didn’t talk for a week?” Izzy asked.
“Just like that,” Jim said. “And you had to hear us bicker.”
“So, you girls can choose," I offered. “Back to the days when we hid out at the beach house to avoid Dad. Or your dad and I being back to normal, just in time for Christmas?”
Addy ladled batter into the waffle iron. “That’s a tough one,” she said, glancing at Izzy.
“How is that tough?” Jim laughed. “I grew up wishing my parents would choose a hug over a shouting match.”
“I know,” Addy said, softening. “It’s just…you two can be so cringey.”
“We are not cringey,” I insisted, trying not to laugh.
“I don’t want the fighting,” Izzy said. “But I’d be okay with the silence again.” She giggled, and we all cracked up.
“Oh, lord.” I rolled my eyes. “A little affection never hurt anyone. Dad’s right, it could be worse.” I rubbed Jim’s hand and smiled at him. “And if we ever go back to that fake-fighting mess, I’ll kick your ass.”
Jim arched an eyebrow. “If we continue our fire-and-ice therapy, we’ll never go silent again.”
“Fire-and-ice therapy?” Addy asked, hovering over the steam emanating from the waffle maker. “What even is that?”
“Something for your Uncle Jake to explain,” I said, as cinnamon and caramel began wafting through the air. “Wait, did you put the brown sugar in? It smells amazing.”
“Yeah,” Izzy said. “While Dad was talking about why it’s okay to gross us out.”
“New topic,” Jim advised. “Are you girls excited for tonight?”
“Yes,” Izzy squealed. “But Mom won’t let us change until we’re there.”
“I don’t want the dresses wrinkled,” I said, taking the first waffles. “We’ve been over this.”
“But John said all the other kids get to arrive already dressed,” Addy said.
“Why is this even an issue?” I asked, taking a bite. “Holy—” I stopped, eyes wide. “Best waffles I’ve ever had. Is there peppermint?”
