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She swallowed hard. “Okay. May I wash my hands first?”
“Of course.” This was good. It would give me time to ditch the pasta box. Yeah, I still felt bad about deceiving her. But would some empty carbs really be all that bad for her? Her dad used to love them. If anything, empty carbs made you happier, so there you go, I was doing it for her happiness. Wow, I was really stretching it. I should feel ashamed, but I was kind of proud of my logic. I showed my little charge to the bathroom before I ran to the kitchen and tossed the pasta box. I also set up a stool next to me near the counter.
Whitney came out with her hands up in the air as if she was ready to be gloved for surgery. “The hand towel in that bathroom looks dirty. Do you have a clean towel I may use?”
The kid had a point. The bathroom hand towel was more like a makeup wipe. “Sure.” I ripped off a couple of paper towels and handed them to her.
“Are these recycled?”
“Yes.” At least I didn’t have to lie about that.
She looked relieved that I was environmentally conscientious and that she didn’t have to use a dirty towel.
I took the used towels from her and threw them in the recycle bin. “Hop up on that stool. I’m going to teach you how to make the best spaghetti sauce ever.”
She tipped her head to the side. “How do you know it is the best ever?”
“Because my grandma told me so.”
She pressed her lips together skeptically.
“How about this? After you taste it, you can tell me,” I offered.
She nodded as if that was a reasonable request.
“Oh, I almost forgot. You need an apron.” I didn’t want her to stain her cardigan and pleated plaid skirt. I thought Jonah had said she went to public school, but she had the whole private Catholic school vibe going on, right down to her patent leather Mary Janes. My bare feet cringed for hers.
Kinsley had several different aprons hanging on the pantry door. I grabbed the one with snowflakes on it. It looked to be the smallest and cutest. “Let’s get this on you and get to cooking.”
The poor thing looked resigned as she stood abnormally still and straight. She got an A+ for posture. I slipped the apron over her head and got a whiff of her hair, which smelled like strawberries. It gave me some hope there was a little girl in her somewhere after all.
“All right, kiddo, on the stool you go.”
She climbed up like she was hiking Mt. Kilimanjaro and never expected to return.
“Do you know how to measure ingredients?” I asked her.
She shook her head no, to my ever-living surprise. I thought this girl knew how to do everything.
“We have a meal service that delivers our food. Except Father does not like it anymore,” she informed me.
I so badly wanted to get her to use contractions. I felt like I was talking to a stuffy old royal. “Why doesn’t he like it?” Maybe if I used contractions regularly, she would catch on.
“My mother says that he never liked them, but he wanted to make her happy. Can food make you happy?”
What? Uh. YES! And I was going to prove it to her. “How about we have ice cream for dinner and watch a movie?”
She about fell off her stool. I had to steady her.
“Ice cream is not dinner and it is full of bad cholesterol, which can make you have a heart attack and die.”
This kid knew too much, but I knew a thing or two as well. “Ice cream makes you happy and happy people live longer.”
“Is that true? May I use your phone to google that?”
I tapped her nose. “You may, while we watch a movie and eat ice cream.”
She squirmed in her seat. “My mother only lets me watch National Geographic and documentaries.”
I was going to have to talk to Jonah about that. “Okay, but we’ll have to do it in a blanket fort.” If I had to be bored to tears, I would enjoy it more in a blanket fort.
“What is a blanket fort?”
Jonah was seriously getting a talking to. How could his child not know what a blanket fort was? It was a rite of passage for every child. And, hello, her dad and I made one once. Best. Date. Ever.
“I’ll show you.”
Whitney watched me as I pulled all the table chairs out and arranged them in a square. Then she watched me drape several blankets over them. She wasn’t impressed with my Santa Claus comforter. Because guess what? The girl didn’t believe in good ol’ Saint Nick. Yes, Jonah and I were going to have a lot of words when he returned.
When I finished, I pulled back the fort door. “After you.” I waved her in.
