Page 98 of Catching Sparkles

“Of course,” I said, pushing a little porcelain dish over to her, sending the fancy edible pearls in it rolling and clacking against the sides. “Just fill in the rest of the empty spaces.”

She’d been saying she wanted to be a baker since she was seven, and loved watching and helping me with whatever I was willing to teach her. I was too finicky about my working conditions to hire a real assistant, so I wouldn’t mind taking her on as an adorable little protégé one day.

“You’re not going to let Ryder dig around and put her face in this, are you?” She questioned, squinting as she picked up a pearl with the designated tweezers and painstakingly placing it onto the pillowy frosting between the pastel rainbows and fondant bows.

“God, no,” I answered, cringing as I imagined all my hard work destroyed in an instant. Even if the cake was meant to be sliced up and eaten by everyone at the party, I didn’t think I could stomach watching what my sweet little human wrecking ball would do to it. “I made a smaller cake just for her.”

“That’s going to be cute,” she said. “Mom said you guys did that with me too, but I don’t remember.”

“Well, I remember,” I assured her. Of course she wouldn’t remember what we’d done for her first birthday. “And I have tons of pictures to prove how adorable you were.”

As I watched her transfer a few more shimmering candies onto the cake, pleased with her technique at such a young age, a pair of boys made their way down the stairs, beating each other over the head with foam swords and shouting what I thought was supposed to be pirate lingo at each other. Our oldest and Benji and Josie’s youngest were only three months apart in age, and completely inseparable, just like Benji and I had always talked about.

“Keaton,” I said, and he froze, turning to face me while attempting to hide the comically large toy sword behind his back. His cousin Archer did the same, both giant foam blades sticking out from behind their tiny bodies.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Are you supposed to be playing with that in the house?”

“Um… I don’t remember,” he lied, before blinking his lashes at me in an attempt at mercy. My heart clenched, predictably. It was always hard for me to discipline him. With his mop of dark hair and pale blue eyes, he already looked like Rhys’ little clone.

We’d used the same surrogate for both of our kids, Keaton with Rhys’ DNA and Ryder with mine. I wasn’t sure if she’d end up looking like a miniature version of me yet. All I knew was that along with Keaton, she was the most perfect and precious thing that had ever and would ever exist on the planet.

“You don’t remember?” I repeated doubtfully. He rocked back on the heels of his little sneakers, glancing up at the ceiling innocently.

At that moment, Rhys slid open the patio door and walked through, his eyes immediately landing on his son and nephew. Shifting Ryder on his hip, he reached out and snatched the foam sword from behind Keaton’s back, giving him a whack over his head before pretending to run him through.

“Rhys!” I said his name while Keaton giggled wildly, making exaggerated dying noises as a lovely backdrop. Rhys slowly turned to look at me, the expression on his face nearly identical to the one our son had given me literally moments ago.

Clearing his throat, Rhys pushed the sword back into Keaton’s eager hands. “Ah, I mean… These are outside toys. You know that. So, uh… Go outside. Go beat up your Uncle Benji.”

“Hey!” Archer cried, racing after Keaton. “Don’t beat up my dad!”

“Very smooth,” I told him once he’d closed the door behind them and come into the kitchen.

“Da!” Ryder cried out her favorite syllable, reaching for me with her chubby hands. “Da!”

“That’s right,” I said, straightening the hair bow I’d tied her blonde curls into. I’d never forgotten being scolded at the baby clothes rack about the football onesie for Astrid, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t allowed to dress my daughter in frilly lace and ribbons. At least until she started to object. “I’m Da.”

“Hey, she could be talking to me,” Rhys reasoned, and I snorted.

“Maybe.”

“Rhys Kensington!” Mom called out from the living room, where she was organizing the massive table of gifts for Ryder. There was almost forty people milling around, friends we’d made over the years, and people from town we’d become close with. “Please tell me you do not have that baby over there staring down at her own birthday cake! You know that is supposed to be a surprise!”

“She’s literally one,” he retorted. “She barely has object permanence, let alone comprehending the concept of her own birthday.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she stomped her way over. “Give me this precious angel,” she commanded, scooping her up. Ryder only bubbled out a laugh as she was toted away. “And you and your father better not have had her breathing in all that smoke from that damn grill, either.”

“Yeah, Mom,” he replied flatly. “We let her flip a couple burgers, too.”

She gave him a dry, but exasperatedly affectionate look as she shook her head. She pulled me into a tight half-hug, giving me a loud smooch on the top of my hair. “The cake looks amazing, honey.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, squeezing her back.

“Astrid, come help me with these gifts.”

“Okay, Grandma.” She hopped off the stool and scurried off.