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“We're making cookies? Yes!” Hunter exclaims, thrusting his fist into the air and bumping it twice.
I don't know where he picked up this mannerism, because so far, I haven't seen anyone around him do it. But it makes me laugh every time.
I pivot on the ball of my foot, raise my arms up, and wiggle my fingers in what I'm sure is an excessive amount of jazz hands. Okay, so I'm just piling on the awkwardness at this point. Maybe I can claim heatstroke and everyone will forget about it.
“Surprise. We're making chocolate chip cookies today,” I say, wiggling my fingers once more.
“Oh my god, Nan! Did you hear that? Eve's going to make chocolate chip cookies with me!” He's nearly yelling now, his excitement too much for him to contain.
Dixie's laugh joins Hunter's enthusiasm, and she walks over to plant another kiss on the top of her grandson's head. “Have fun, buddy. I'll see you for dinner tonight, okay? Don't let your dad eat all the cookies either.” Her voice is warm and playful, brimming with affection.
His expression grows serious and he nods. “I won't. I don't think he found my secret hiding place last time.”
She pats him on the shoulder with affection and grabs her purse off the back of her stool. She tosses it over her shoulder and sings, “Have fun.”
As soon as she's out the door, I pin Hunter with an arched brow and ask, “So where are you hiding cookies from your dad?”
* * *
“Hey, Eve,”Hunter murmurs as he stirs the flour, baking soda, and salt together.
“Yeah, buddy?” I glance from the mixing bowl to his face. The tip of his tongue peeks out the side of his mouth, his eyes focused on his spatula turning inside the bowl.
I brought my favorite ceramic baking bowl set from Nana Jo's to use today. It's heavy, so the bowls don't slip when you use the hand mixer.
“If you were a type of dessert, what do you think you'd be?”
His question is so out of left field, that I don't answer right away. “Hm, I'm not sure. Maybe a banana cream pie? My grandma used to make the best pies. This is her cookie recipe, you know.” I tilt my head to the side, my lips twisting. “Well, kind of. I made some adjustments, so I guess it's mine now.”
He nods, working hard on combining all the dry ingredients together. “I don't think you'd be banana pie.”
“What would you be?” I ask, prepping the rest of the recipe.
“That's easy. A chocolate chip cookie.” He says it like duh. Which, I suppose, I should've known.
“Of course. What about your dad and uncles? What would they be?” I ask, adding all the wet ingredients into a different mixing bowl.
“Hm,” he says, stopping with his hand on the spatula. He looks at me, his face scrunching up a little. “Dad's probably a cookie. One of those plain ones because he'll eat anything—even those sugar cookies without icing. Uncle Nova's easy. He'd be ice cream because it's his favorite. He likes to throw all kinds of things in his ice cream.” His expression smooths out, his eyes wide. “Did you know you can add potato chips to ice cream?”
I nod a few times. “Yep. It's pretty good. Have you ever tried it?”
He leans over the bowl, planting a circle-shaped flour print on his shirt. “Uncle Nova always shares his desserts with me, but it's a secret.”
“That sounds like your uncle. And don't worry, your secrets are safe with me, buddy.” I'd be willing to bet that Silas knows all about Nova's dessert sharing already.
“Uncle Bane is pecan pie!” he crows.
My brows rise as I add the last ingredient to my bowl. “Really?”
“Yep,” he says, popping the p a little. “Nan makes him his own pecan pie for Christmas every year. And she let me help last time!”
“I bet you were a big help. Did Uncle Bane share any with you? It's important to taste our food when we're baking and after, when it's finished.”
“I know, Bobby told me,” he says, stirring again.
My brows crinkle in confusion. “Bobby?”
“Yep, I watch his cooking shows on TV with Nan. Sometimes Dad will watch it with me too, but he always falls asleep.”
