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By the look in her eyes, he wondered if she was thinking the same? Was her brain cataloguing this moment between them? Would she remember it for all time?
“Look, father,” said Penelope. “We’re using fractions to make cookies.”
That was enough to break the spell. Leo turned from Esme to his daughter. “That sounds like a good use of math. Don’t let me stop you.”
“Yes, what’s next, Ms. Pickett?” Penelope stepped over the broom and the flour. She pushed aside the mess and focused on the mini bowl.
Esme looked down at the mess.
“Don’t worry,” said Leo. “I’ll have the staff tend to this. It appears to me that the three of us will only serve to make the mess bigger. Let’s finish the lesson instead.”
Esme measured out flour and tossed it into the bowl. “All right, Princess Pea, why don’t you mix the dough.”
Penelope’s grin was huge as she took the wooden spoon and began to stir.
Esme bent down to pick up the bag of flour. She walked around the counter to where Leo stood, careful to step over the pile of flour still on the floor. She lifted her dress and pressed the foot handle on the trash bin.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a king?” Her voice was quiet, only loud enough for him to hear.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a school teacher?”
The bin closed with a thud. She looked up at him, wrinkling her nose as though confused.
“At the moment,” he said, “neither of our occupations made a difference.“
She raised her fin
ger the way his old school teachers used to when they found fault with his answers. “You didn’t go on about the state of education in the world or teachers today being inadequate.”
“I don’t feel that way at all about education.”
She huffed, balling her fingers into a fist. “I went on and on about princes and fairytales.”
“Showing your own prejudices against all other royals aside from princes and displaying your stereotypical views on dragons.”
She gave him a blank stare that showed him she wasn’t amused. Only problem was the grin warring at the corner of her mouth. “And you’re continuing to laugh at my expense.”
“Not at all,” Leo grinned. “A little imagination is good. You simply have a lot.”
She narrowed her gaze. Her hand unballed and that finger rose again, ready to make a counter point.
“The dough is mixed,” Penelope announced. “Can we bake them?”
Leo looked up at the clock. He’d been away from his guests longer than he’d planned. “It’s your bedtime.”
The joy on Penelope’s face fell like a crashing stone.
“We haven’t cleaned up our mess,” said Esme. “If we put them in the oven now, by the time we finish cleaning, the cookies will be done.”
“We do have staff who can—“
She cut him off with another look that he’d seen countless times on his school teachers’ and college professors’ faces that said he got the answer wrong. They must have a class on that at teachers’ school.
“I’m not leaving a mess behind.” She glanced down at the powder prints on his coat. “Not any more of a mess. Penelope, you can spoon out one tablespoon of the dough and space them an inch apart on the tray while I sweep.”
Leo picked up a rag and began wiping down the counter. Esme paused in her sweeping but didn’t say anything. Leo felt as though he’d aced a pop quiz.
By the time he was done with the counter, Penelope had measured and placed all the dough. He helped her put them in the oven and then set the timer for eight minutes. He turned and found Esme watching the two of them with a smile on her face.
