Page 37 of Hot Puck
“Okay.”
I stand to the side and watch as the girls race around the kitchen, ducking in and out of the walk-in pantry to retrieve everything I’ve asked for.
I think they’re done and ready to start when they both shout ‘oh’ and dash back into the pantry. When they emerge a minute later, they’re wearing matching aprons and holding one out to me.
It’s the look in their eyes that has me cluing in to what a momentous moment this is. For a second I debate not taking the apron, but I know they wouldn’t be offering it if they didn’t want me to wear it.
“Did you cook a lot with your mom?”
“Yes.” I swing around to find Chase behind me. His fists are clenched and he’s working his jaw side to side, his wet eyes on me. “She insisted we learn to cook. So, we could take care of ourselves when we left home.”
The irony of them having to take care of themselves without leaving home doesn’t escape me. I could easily make this into a difficult situation and I’m struggling with what to say or do when Cassidy takes it out of my hands.
“You need to wear it so you don’t ruin your clothes. Mom never lets us cook without one.” She thrusts the apron at me. “It’s Mom’s kitchen so her rules stand.”
My gaze darts between the siblings. Each of them is fighting their own emotions and I can either stand back and keep myself separate from them by refusing to comply with their wishes, or I can put the apron on and we can cook breakfast together.
Like their mom would do if she were here.
“Thanks.” I have no other words, but I know I need to tread carefully because this moment will set the stage for what comes next and as much as I want Chase to play for the Rogues, I have to admit I want this family to thrive in the face of tragedy just as much.
It takes a moment but finally Chase steps toward the pantry and asks, “What are we making?”
“Apple cinnamon pancakes,” Cassidy says.
Crystal adds, “And we’re making our lunch too.”
Her tone is strong, laced with determination, as though she expects an argument and isn’t going to let him say no.
“Is the food as bad as I remember?” Chase asks when he comes out of the pantry wearing an apron of his own.
“It’s okay.” Crystal looks at her brother. “But not like what Mom used to pack us.”
“I remember. It’s always nuggets and fish sticks. And it’s never hot, which somehow makes it worse.”
“Exactly.”
“All right, Natalie, tell us what we need to do.” My gaze meets Chase’s, and I can see the swirl of emotions he’s dealing with.
Determined to make this easy for all of them, I push all thoughts other than teaching them how to make apple cinnamon pancakes from my mind.
“Who’s the best at shredding? We need to shred the apple and squeeze as much juice out of it as we can.”
“I’ll do that.” He picks up an apple and small plate. “Should I do it in a bowl?”
“Do you have a strainer? I usually shred the apple into one over a bowl. That way some of the juice drips away while I get everything else together.”
“I can do that.”
He busies himself with the apple and I get stuck for a few seconds admiring the way his arm muscles flex. It takes more effort than it should to pull my eyes away and focus on the girls.
It’s surprisingly easy to work together. The girls take instruction well, and with enthusiasm, and Chase helps but lets them do most of the work.
He might think he’s failing his sisters but from where I’m standing, he’s doing a great job. He isn’t taking over or telling them off when they make mistakes. And they make a few.
By the time he pulls a frypan from the cupboard, the island, their aprons, and the floor at their feet are covered in a fine layer of flour.
“Who’s the best at flipping pancakes?” I ask as I move to the sink for a sponge to start cleaning up.
