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“Why, thank you, Fancypants!” She laughed and handed him a cookie. He flapped his wings, excited. Sometimes he really did remind me of a dog.
“Come on, Sir Fancelot, let’s move.” I stood. “May, would you mind bringing dessert tonight? Grams has a sweet tooth, though more for fruit than anything else.”
“I’ll bake a pie,” she said. “What’s her favorite fruit?”
“I don’t know, but she was talking about peaches the other day.”
“Peach pie it is,” May said as she saw us to the door. She handed me a basket with a couple dozen cookies in a plastic bag in it. “Here, since your pal likes them, make sure he gets a couple for a treat.”
As we started back through the trail, Fancypants zipped around through the trees, suddenly stopping about ten yards off the trail from me.
“Berries!” he called out.
“What kind?”
“Looks like wild raspberries,” he said.
I waded through the knee-high undergrowth, brushing past the ferns and Oregon grape and vine maple to where he was hovering. Sure enough, there was a small patch of wild raspberries there, and they were ripe. I stacked the cookies to one side of the basket and sat it on the ground so I could fill the rest of it with berries.
Fancypants, with his delicate hands and ability to fly and hover, was able to reach the berries on the top of the patch. He ate half of what he picked, but I didn’t say anything. The berries were warm and they tasted like sweet sunshine. Within twenty minutes, we had filled the basket and stripped most of the bushes.
“Remember where this is,” I said. “I should dig up a few canes and transplant them in the corner of the yard. I have some blackberries there, so it would be nice to have wild raspberries along with them.” I picked up the basket and we headed home.
* * *
It was nearingfourPMwhen we arrived home. Grams would be up soon. I put the cookies on a cake plate and covered them with the dome, to keep Fancypants from eating them all at once, and then washed the berries gently and laid them out on paper towels to dry before putting them in the fridge.
Time to plan for dinner. Having no clue what Grams liked, I decided to go with spaghetti. I had no more started sauteing the onions and garlic in the pan when someone knocked on the kitchen door. Wiping my hands on a tea towel, I answered the door. It was Bran.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, stepping back to let him in.
“May sent me to drop off these,” he said, handing me a bag. “She said you might need them.”
I peeked inside the brown lunch bag. It was half-full of tomatoes. Frowning, I set it on the counter. “I don’t, really, but—” Then I stopped as a thought struck me. I checked the fridge. Sure enough, the bowl I kept fresh tomatoes in was empty. “Fancypants! Front and center!”
He flew in from the living room. “You rang?”
“Where did the tomatoes go and how did you get into the fridge? I know you can’t open the door by yourself.”
He rolled his eyes. With a melodramatic sigh, he landed on the counter and swept one arm up to brush against his forehead. “You wound me! You accuse me of skullduggery, without a proper investigation—” At my look, he gave up and shrugged. “All right! Yes, I ate them. You were clearing out old vegetables for the compost bin last night so I decided to help myself. I saved you time, really, by not asking you to make a snack for me.”
“Right, tell it to the judge,” I said, then laughed. “Well, I thank May’s intuition. I really can use these tomatoes, Bran. But you,” I turned back to Fancypants, “do not get to munch on these. They’re for my beef marinara sauce for the spaghetti, so don’t you touch them.”
With a vaguely guilty look, Fancypants nodded. “I won’t.”
“All right then.” I turned back to stir the garlic and onion. “Bran, thank May, will you? And are you coming to dinner with her to meet my great-grandmother?”
Bran hopped up on the counter next to me, dangling his legs over the side. “Do you want me to come? I’ll be here, if you like.”
I glanced up at him—even with him sitting on the counter, he was taller than I was. His eyes twinkled, and he had gathered his hair back in a manbun. He was handsome, as light as Faron was dark. Bran leaned down and brushed my cheek with a kiss.
“For luck,” he whispered.
“Come to dinner,” I said, though I still wasn’t sure it was the best idea. “You’ll end up meeting Grams at some point. It might as well be tonight.”
“You need any help?” he asked. “Want me to dice anything for you?”
“No. Why don’t you scram now? I’ll see you later. Oh, and would you tell May that my great-grandmother dresses for dinner. And she expectsusto dress for dinner, as well. Also, another thank you for all you’ve done around here. I sure appreciate it. Now, off with you.”
