AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“She’s adorable.” My eyes watch as Blakely pushes items into her book bag. I’m grateful that Carol seems to be acting as if me picking up her granddaughter in her son’s SUV to make them dinner is normal. I don’t know if I could handle her asking questions about what’s going on between us since I don’t have the answers.
“Thank you,” she replies.
“Ready!” Blakely says with her backpack half on and her coat in her arms.
I kneel to her height. “How about we put the coat on? We don’t want you to freeze.”
“Okay,” she easily agrees. I help her with her coat and back into her backpack. “Bye, Mamaw. Will you tell Papaw that I’ll be back soon and don’t work on the puzzle without me?”
“I’ll tell him,” Carol assures her. “It was good to see you again, Kennedy.”
“You too.” I wave and lead Blakely out to the Tahoe.
“Ready?” I ask once I’m behind the wheel. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I see her head bob.
“Ready. This is the best day.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. This little girl is such a joy to be around. My heart breaks for the loss of her mother and the relationship I’m sure they would have had. She’s lucky to have so many people who love her.
“I don’t know if I like it.” Blakely scrunches up her nose. “Chicken pie don’t sound like dino nuggets.”
I smile at her. She’s sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island. “It’s chicken pot pie, and I promise you’ll love it. I need you to pour the soup into the pan, help me mix the topping, and drop it on top.”
“I’m good at pouring.”
“Perfect.” I grab the three cans of Progresso Chicken Pot Pie Style Soup and remove the lids. “Now, take this with both hands.” I hand her one of the cans. “Slowly pour it into the casserole dish.” She does as I ask, and I keep my hand close to help her.
“I did it!” she cheers once the can is empty.
“Great job, kiddo. Now, we have two more.” We repeat the process two more times. “This is not truly homemade. We’re kind of cheating.”
“Is that bad?” she asks.
“Not when it comes to cooking. Sometimes you just don’t have time, so you have to cut corners.”
“I’m not allowed to use knives. You’ll hafta do the cutting.”
“Deal.” I don’t bother explaining. I’d probably just confuse her even more.
“Now, salt and pepper. We’re going to do this together.” I place the shaker in her hand and then use my own to shake out the desired amount of each into the casserole dish.
“Now, the fun part.”
“We put pancakes in chicken pie?” she asks.
“No, we’re making a homemade biscuit mix. This is Bisquick. It can be used for pancakes, but that’s not what we’re going to do with it.”
“I might maybe like this,” she tells me.
“I think because you helped me make it, it's going to be extra tasty.”
“Will Daddy like it?”
“I hope so.”
“He will. He likes all kinds of food.”
We chat while I mix up the biscuit mixture. Grabbing another fork, I show her how to fork up a scoop and drop it carefully on top of the soup. “This is fun.” She giggles as another scoop of biscuit plops on top of the soup mixture.
“All done.” She smiles at me a few minutes later. “My hands are icky.” She holds up her biscuit-mixture-covered fingers.
“Nothing a little soap and water can’t fix.” Lifting her into my arms, I move her to the sink so she can wash her hands before placing her back on her feet. “Let me get this cleaned up and in the oven, and we can start on the cookie dough.”
“Yay!” She watches my every move and listens when I ask her to step back so I can open the oven. “Now, cookie time!”
She hugs me around my legs and smiles up at me. Something about the moment allows her little hands to reach inside my chest and wrap around my heart. This little girl and her daddy are weaving themselves into a place inside me that they’ll never be able to be set free from.
Shaking out of my thoughts, I get busy measuring ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and handing them to Blakely to pour into a bowl when Blakely asks if she can stir. I know it’s going to be a lot for her, but I hand over the spoon, knowing I’ll need to help her.
“My arm’s gonna fall off.” She giggles with a pant of frustration at the same time.
“Want me to take a turn?”
“Yes.” She drops the spoon into the bowl and exhales dramatically. “Daddy gets the kind you break off,” she tells me. “This is funner but harder.”
“It is more fun,” I say, correcting her. “And harder, but nothing worth having in life is easy.”
