She even grabbed a bag of frozen raspberries and blueberries from the freezer aisle, asking Peach if she likedpancakes. My niece’s eyes went wide at the mere mention, and a mischievous grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. I have a feeling this little girl is going to get spoiled rotten with Emily living under our roof.
“How long does Peach nap during the day?” she asks, opening the fridge and unloading my hands without prompting.
“An hour; if I’m lucky, two.”
“If you’re lucky?”
“A grumpy Lil’ Peach,” I mutter, “is … well … let’s just say those little horns come out, her patience disappears, and suddenly I’m negotiating with a kid who could cry for something as simple as the air touching her.”
A small grin tugs at the corners of Emily’s lips as she slides open the vegetable crisper, her dainty fingers brushing the edge of the drawer as she does. “That bad, huh?”
“Sometimes,” I reply with a chuckle. “Why do you ask?”
“I just want to have some lunch ready for her when she wakes.”
“I don’t expect you to wait on her … on either of us while you’re living here, Em.”
“I know,” she replies, shrugging one shoulder. “But you’ve already bought me a bed, and we haven’t even discussed rent yet.”
“You don’t have to pay rent,” I grumble. “I own this house.”
“I have to contribute something, I’m not a freeloader.”
“Nobody claimed you were.”
“I want to pull my weight.”
There is no way I’m taking money off her for rent, utilities, or food, for that matter, but I’ll save that battle for another day. She’s been in my house for an hour tops, so I’m not about to pick a fight with her right now.
“It’ll be nice to have someone here who can cook,” I admit.
“I don’t have Lucia’s or Massimo’s skills,” she admits, giving me a sheepish look. “But my food’s edible.”
“Good to know,” I reply with a chuckle.
“I’m a pretty decent baker, though.”
I arch an eyebrow. “What kind of things do you bake?”
“Cookies, cakes … that type of thing.”
“Lil’ Peach is going to love you,” I say, collapsing the last paper bag and adding it to the pile before stowing them in the cupboard under the sink. “Baked goods are a sure fire way to win her heart.”
“What about you?” she asks.
I do a double take. Is she asking if baked goods are the way to my heart?
I glance down at my watch as I scramble for something to say. I can’t exactly tell her that one of her smiles is basically my kryptonite.
“I’m going to start shifting things out of the spare room,” I grumble, crossing the room without meeting her eyes. “I’ll move my weights into the garage.”
“Can I help?”
I pause at the doorway but don’t turn around. “Why don’t you get a start on lunch?”
I need a moment to pull myself together before I say something I shouldn’t.
I’m in the garage with the roller door open and the radio humming softly in the background as I arrange my weights.
