Kaira slipped her own apron over her head—it was pink and unicorn themed—and blinked up at him. “Auntie Emma gave it to him after she visited. She says everyone should have an apron so they don’t get their clothes dirty.”
“I see.” He wouldn’t laugh. “Are you sure he won’t mind me borrowing such a great gift?”
Kaira nodded. “Yes. Daddy says aprons are made to be used and that he wants to use that one so much it gets ruined and has to be replaced.”
“I bet he does,” Rowan strangled out as he busied himself with putting the apron on and avoiding eye contact with a guileless child.
Once they were both suitably attired, Rowan located bowls and measuring cups and Kaira clambered up onto her step stool to help.
Rowan measured out the sugar and ghee, but gladly gave in to Kaira’s demands to help and let her dump them into the bowl. He let her start the mixing process but figured he’d have to finish up to make sure it was smooth.
“What are we making?” she asked as she flailed the spoon around the bowl.
“Nankhatai. Cookies,” he tacked on, since he doubted she’d heard of this treat before.
Kaira frowned at the bowl and mumbled, “Nankhatai,” as if testing out the word.
“My nani used to make them for me all the time,” he told her. “Nani lived in Canada for a long time, but she was born in Pakistan, which is where she learned how to make these.”
“Is that far away?”
“Very. It’s on the other side of the world. You have to fly for almost a day to get there from here.”
Her hand stopped moving and she looked up at him very seriously. “Is it close to India?”
Rowan blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to have that good a grasp on world geography. “Right next door. Actually, they were once part of the same country.” A vast oversimplification of thousands of years of culture and history, but Rowan didn’t think Kaira was old enough for a full geopolitical breakdown of desi politics.
“So it’s kinda the same as India?”
Another vast oversimplification, but…. “Kind of, like Canada and the US are similar.”
“Oh.” Kaira considered the bowl in front of her, then turned to Rowan and said, “Daddy says my birth daddy is Indian.”
“Oh.” There was a lot to unpack there. Like that Kaira had a birth father or that he might not be white. “Do you, um, get to spend time with your birth dad?” seemed like a safe question to start with.
“No. Daddy says thathewanted a baby so bad that Auntie Emma had a miracle baby. Auntie Emma got to give me to Daddy like a present, but she needed my birth daddy to help make me, but he couldn’t be a daddy yet. So I don’t know him, but my dada and dadi send me birthday presents. And Daddy says I should get to do and see as much Indian stuff as I want, because it’s part of my hair-ee-tage.”
And Rowan thought the “birth daddy” comment was a lot to process. Apparently she was also in touch with her birth father’s parents.
“Well, then, you are in luck. Because nankhatai cookies are made in India too. I bet your dada and dadi know all about them.”
“They are?” Kaira stared up at him, wide-eyed.
“Yup, they are. A real desi treat.”
Rowan had taken over the mixing of the sugar and butter during the conversation, since Kaira was thoroughly distracted, and it was now ready for the next step.
Kaira was now laser focused as Rowan walked her through adding the flour and semolina and mixing it together with their hands.
It was hard to tell which she liked more—the hand mixing or the shaping of the cookies—but by the time they reached the baking stage, her interest had waned. Considering she’d been occupied for a good half hour, Rowan wasn’t surprised.
Rowan placed the cookie sheets in the oven and set a timer for twenty minutes. “So, what are we going to do while we wait for cookies?”
The answer, apparently, was go to Kaira’s bedroom to see the lehengas hanging in her closet, all presents from her biological grandparents. “This one is my favorite,” she said, petting a pink-and-yellow skirt with a glittering hem.
By the time Jordy got home, Kaira was fed and chill and she and Rowan were cuddled up on the couch watching one of her favorite movies. Apparently she and Jordy had an obsession with Bollywood romances.
“Hey, you two,” Jordy said from the den doorway. He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed in an unfairly attractive way. “What are you up to?”
