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"Yeah," I say, smiling at him. "I’m ready."
I take the bacon and slice it into small pieces. Shaun grabs a bowl, and I drop the bacon in it. Next, he picks up a spoon and carefully scoops some pickles, adding them to the bowl. I turn on the stove and place a skillet on it, waiting for it to heat up before pouring in the bacon and pickles. I cover the skillet and let the mixture cook slowly.
Suddenly, Shaun interrupts our cooking with an innocent request. "Mom, can we make the pudding now?"
"Of course. Everything you need is on the table," she says while stirring the bubbling soup. I can't resist the urge to get closer to her. I lift the lid, revealing the rich aroma of the homemade chicken noodle soup that fills the air. The tender chunks of chicken, the perfectly cooked noodles, and the fragrant broth all come together in a symphony of flavors that makes my mouth water in anticipation.
"Damn, this looks amazing, Tink," I say impressed placing the lid back on.
"Thanks," she replies with a chuckle.
As she walks over to the sink to start washing the dishes, my eyes can't help but follow the curves of her body, accentuated by those tight-fitting jeans. Her ass appears firm and tempting, reminding me of my favorite snack.
Shaun wraps his arms around my leg and looks up at me with a curious expression. "Is there something on Mom's pants?" he asks, his head dangling upside down.
I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment and clear my throat uncomfortably.
"Why do you keep looking at her butt?" he asks me.
Scar turns to face me, flashing a mischievous grin, then switches her attention to Shaun, her expression serious. "Monster, don’t embarrass Ricky.”
He says "sorry" with a sheepish grin on his face and walks toward the table and I follow.
I leaned closer to Shaun and whispered, "I hope you know what you're doing."
He shot me a look that said, 'trust me, I got this.' With that sheepish grin still on his face, he confidently led the way, and I just followed along, hoping that this pudding would turn out edible.
“Here.” Shaun hands me the eggs. “I will put this stuff in the bowl," he says, gesturing toward the salt, sugar, and cornstarch. "Can you measure this stuff for me?" he asks, handing me a set of measuring cups.
I measure the sugar, cornstarch, and salt and pass them to Shaun. He dumps them into the pot and says, "Now add the milk." I slowly pour in the milk while he stirs everything together. "Now we gotta heat it," he tells me, leading the way to the stove.
I pick up the pot and take it to the stove, setting it on medium heat. After a few minutes, he instructs me to crack the eggs and add them. I stir the mixture and adjust the heat to boil.
"We need to check the bacon!" he reminds me. I turn to the skillet and stir it gently.
Shaun peeks over my shoulder, eagerly asking, "Is it done?"
"Not yet, buddy," I reply. The bacon and pickles sizzle on the stove, filling the air with a tantalizing aroma. Once they're cooked to perfection, we transfer them into a large bowl and cover it with a sheet of foil. Meanwhile, the pudding simmers on the stove, sending swirls of steam upward. We pour the pudding into individual Spiderman dessert bowls and place them in the refrigerator to cool. As we clean up the kitchen, I glance down at Shaun. "You're an excellent helper, Shaun."
"Thanks," he beams, taking a dish from my hand and drying it.
“Scar, what’s the point of a dishwasher if you’re just going to hand wash everything?” I ask.
She gives me an annoyed look. “It doesn’t work.” I hear her mutterSmart-assunder her breath.
I grin, loving how I still affect her.
“Bad word, Mom! That’s a dollar,” Shaun scolds his mother.
“Yeah, Scar.” I tease.
She responds by sticking out her tongue at me and whispers the words ‘smart ass’ again.
Shaun saunters over to the counter where the swear jar sat. "Mom," he said, poking at the jar, "if you keep putting money in here, you'll have no more money left to buy me things." Shaun scolded, trying to stifle a laugh.
Scar burst out laughing at Shaun's cheeky logic. "Nice try, little mister," she teased, ruffling his hair, "but I think I can manage to keep a bit of cash for your things."
As I help Scar set the table, the front door swings open, and her mom walks in.
