Page 1 of Second Helpings (Sweet Treats 4)

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Sienna

“Hi Daddy,” I sing as I swing into the kitchen. “You’re home early.”

My dad’s just come in the door, and I can see that he’s tired from the way he walks. His red plaid shirt looks a little rumpled as he hangs his leather jacket on the hook by the door, and then bends down to shuck off the beat-up boots on his feet.

“Oh yeah,” says Tyler. “I put the pedal to the metal, and fortunately there wasn’t too much traffic on the I-90 corridor. I got home just in time for dinner, I see.”

I nod, hovering over the stove where there’s a pot bubbling and steaming with spicy aromas.

“Yep, and I just got this new crockpot, so there’s plenty for both of us.”

Tyler frowns at me.

“Sienna, you didn’t just go off and leave this pot on its own, did you? I know I’ve talked to you a couple times about electrical appliances. You can’t leave things plugged in without keeping an eye on them, even if it’s on low heat. You can’t leave crockpots alone either, no matter what the manufacturer says. This house is an old one, and the wiring dates back a hundred years. We don’t have modern circuit breakers, and it’s not safe to leave electrical appliances unattended.”

I nod even while reaching for a protective mitt. I slip the chubby glove onto my hand and then lift the top of the crockpot and sniff deeply. A rich aroma wafts out, and I can almost hear my stomach growl.

“I know, Dad,” I say. “And trust me, I hear you. But this isn’t just any old crockpot. This is a special Japanese thermal pot. See? It doesn’t plug into the wall. It’s specially insulated so that you can cook something on the stove, and then dump it into the thermal pot to finish cooking. The insulation does all the work, and it doesn’t require any electricity.”

My dad looks stumped, rubbing a big hand over his stubbly chin. His blue eyes look doubtful.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yep!” I say cheerily. “See, look.” I turn the crockpot around three hundred and sixty degrees, and sure enough, there’s no socket for an outlet. The pot isn’t connected to a wire, and there’s nothing tapping into the wall.

“See?” I say teasingly while spooning out a heaping bowl of the beef stew. “The crockpot is totally self-contained and perfectly safe. I’ve been listening to you, Dad. Trust me, I’m old enough to manage in the kitchen by myself.”

My dad sits down at our kitchen table with a rueful smile on his face. His hair is graying at the temples, but he’s still a very handsome man. Tyler has bronzed skin, craggy features and broad shoulders. More than a few of my friends have told me I’m lucky to have Tyler as my dad, and I agree.

After all, Tyler has been raising me alone since I was about ten. My mom, Allison, walked out because she said she was “through with this crap.” I’m not sure what that means, or why she felt that way. Maybe it was our small town. Maybe it was fact that I was a bratty child who was impossible to control. Or maybe it was the fact that Tyler was never around.

After all, my dad is a long-haul trucker, so he’s often on the road. It’s a difficult job where you have to enjoy being by yourself because truckers are often alone for sixteen hours a day. They listen to music, sample podcasts, and sometimes just think deep thoughts. But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s a solitary job. The men adapt from necessity. They pull into rest stops every night, grab a quick shower and meal, and then retire to their cabs for some TV before a night’s sleep.

But after my mom left, Tyler cut back on his hours so that he could be home with me more. He hired our neighbor, Martha, to watch me after school when he couldn’t be home, and it worked out. I grew up while developing a close relationship with Martha, and I’m proud of my daddy for being so caring and responsible.

But after I turned sixteen, my dad started going out on the road more. I know why, too. It’s because he wants me to go to college, so he wants to make more money for tuition. I appreciate Tyler’s dedication to my education, but to be frank, I don’t think college is in my future. I’m happy here in our little town, and I’m sure I could get a job working at the café or restaurant downtown. I don’t want to leave my friends or the tight-knit community I’ve come to love.

“Here Daddy,” I say, pushing the steaming bowl of stew towards him. “It’s got lots of carrots, just the way you like it.”

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