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“That’s not what I’m saying. I just want to see if you can make them.”
“What do I get if I can?”
“You want a prize?” He grins. “I’ll have a prize for you if you can do it. Hell, I’ll have one for you even if you can’t.”
I laugh and shake my head at him. “Okay. Pancakes coming right up!”
I get out of bed and head to the kitchen. Truth time. I’ve never made pancakes. I’m more of a waffle girl, myself, but Trace loves pancakes. I like them and will eat them if he fixes some. Lucky for me, the box has instructions on it. This is going to be so easy. Twenty minutes later, I have a stack of beautifully brown pancakes on a plate. I slather them with butter and then drizzle syrup over them.
“Smells good,” Trace says, walking into the room with Lily on his heels.
“Ha. I cooked pancakes. Give me my prize.”
He shakes his finger at me. “Got to taste them first.” He gets a fork and cuts himself a piece. He looks at me as he lifts it to his mouth. His nose scrunches as he chews.
“Don’t even try it, Trace. They have to be good. Look at them!”
He looks as if he’s forcing himself to swallow. “They aren’t done. Sorry, Britt.”
“What?” I squeal. I pick up one of the pancakes and break it in half. “How is that even possible!” The middle is still batter. It’s not cooked. I followed the directions to a T! If I had’ve left it on there any longer, it would’ve burned! “I don’t believe it,” I mutter to myself.
“It’s okay. You tried. I’ll whip us up another batch,” Trace says, taking the pancake from me and dumping the entire plate in the trash.
I fold my arms over my chest, lean against the counter, and watch him. This sucks. Especially since I was so sure I did well. “I do know how to cook, you know,” I say. “I always helped my parents cook. That was my favorite part of growing up. All of us in the kitchen cooking together.”
“I believe you.”
“No, you don’t. I just screwed up pancakes, which in my defense, that was the first time I’ve ever made them.”
“Fine. I have my doubts,” he admits. “Did you always help, or did you ever actually cook?”
I think about all the times I was in the kitchen with my parents. “Oh, my god. I don’t know how to cook! How is that possible? This is terrible.” Trace starts chuckling, but I slap his arm. “I’m serious! The only thing I ever planned to do with my future was that when I had kids, they would be in the kitchen with me and my husband, helping us cook, like I did with my parents. I have so many good memories from that. I can’t do that now!”
Trace cups the back of my neck. “Britt. You’re forgetting something here.”
“Which is?”
“You can learn. Our kids will be fine. Worse comes to worst, I’ll cook and you can help with the kids. It’ll be fine. No need to freak out.” He kisses my forehead before going back to preparing pancakes.
I stare at him. He…he just said our kids. Trace can see himself as my husband and the father to our children. My eyes well with tears, but I blink them back. I need to tell him I trust him. I know it. Melissa knows it. But Trace doesn’t know it yet.
He cooks the pancakes and we sit at the table to eat. Three pancakes for me and six for Trace.
“Did you want to do anything today? I was planning to go to the grocery store and mow the yard yesterday, so should probably do that today,” he says.
“Speaking of, I’ve been meaning to ask you this, but I always forget. Why in the world do you have a push mower? I mean, I would help you if it weren’t for that.”
He laughs. “I just like it better. That’s what Dad had for the longest time before he bought a riding mower. In case you haven’t realized it yet, Britt, I’m old and stuck in my ways.”
He is stuck in his ways. Push mower, Dateline and popcorn, a particular news channel, his music, his side of the bed. In all the time we’ve shared a bed, he’s never strayed to my side of the bed, even though I’ll move to his.
“You aren’t old.” He’ll be thirty-three next week. I’ll be twenty-four the week after. “What do you want to do for your birthday, by the way?”
“What do you want to do for yours?” he counters. ?
?This’ll be the first time we’ve celebrated our birthdays together.”
“And then there’s Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. How is that going to work?”
