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She skidded to a halt next to Daniel with Milky Way crashing into her ankles. They both danced in place eagerly.
Paul, however, trudged over with narrowed eyes, all ready to pick a fight. Coming up to the middle of Daniel’s chest, Paul’s dark auburn hair was a mess, and his thin, freckled face was tight. I had no idea if he was a cute kid or not. I was leaning toward not.
Paul made a grab at the plate of cookies.
Daniel beat him to it, lifting it up out of reach. “What? I’m sorry?” Daniel cupped a hand to his ear. “I didn’t hear the magic words.”
“Hand them over.” Paul glared at him.
Daniel shook his head. “That’s not how you ask for things.”
“I said—” Paul put his hands on his skinny hips. “Give me the cookies.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking no.”
Paul’s lips curled in a snarl.
I’d seen enough sibling arguments between Mo, Sarah, and Adam to expect things to get ugly. My pulse fluttered in my throat, and I hoped I could score at least one cookie before everything went to hell. I moved my camera off the table and onto the bench next to me. It would be safer there.
“You’re not our dad,” Paul muttered.
“Nope. I’m not. But I’m in charge until Mom gets home.” Daniel spoke with impressive patience. “And probably after, too. Get used to it.”
Paul’s jaw tightened.
“Puh-lease,” Kennedy begged, falling to her knees, hands clasped, and brown eyes wide. “Can I puh-lease, pretty puh-lease have a cookie, Dan?”
“Overkill, Ken.” Daniel shook his head.
She grinned and stood up, dusting off her knees. “Dan, I’d like a cookie. May I have one, please?”
“How about two?” He put them on a smaller plate and handed them over to her. “Grab one of your lunch milks to drink.”
Kennedy headed over to the fridge, while Paul crossed his arms and stared at Daniel.
“Fine with me if you don’t get any,” Daniel said, turning his back on his brother. He dropped the plate of cookies in front of me at the table and took the seat opposite. I reached out to take one, setting it on a small plate Daniel passed over.
“They’re from an old family recipe,” Daniel said, ignoring his brother’s glare. “Pillsbury ready-made cookie dough roll.”
I snorted. Suspicion confirmed.
I took a bite. The chocolate melted on my tongue.
Paul, with his arms still tight over his chest, stalked over to stand beside us at the table. Daniel continued to act as if he weren’t there, biting into his own cookie and taking a sip of coffee without another word. By the fridge, Kennedy was singing a little song and trying to balance her carton of milk on the plate beside her cookies.
Seconds ticked past. No one said anything. I took a second bite.
Paul huffed. “Fine. May I have a cookie, please?”
The grudging tone was overlooked as Daniel handed him a plate with two. “By the way, this is my friend Peter,” he said.
Paul’s hazel gaze took me in.
“Say hello.”
“Hey,” he said, nodding his head once. He turned his back on us and headed to the fridge.
“Be nice to our sister,” Daniel called, as he watched Paul grab a small carton of milk, too.
