Which makes me wonder if she still lovesEthan.
Or if there’s a part of Ethan that still lovesher.
After a few more minutes of holding Mila, I sit her in her chair. “Know what always cheers me up? Decorating cookies. Do you think you’d like to help me make some? You can help me stir.” I really shouldn’t feed these kids so much sugar, but I’m at a loss for how to get her out of this funk. I make a mental note to figure out more craftprojects.
“Can we do different coloricing?”
“Yup. And we can do different shapestoo.”
“Can we make Daddy some too?” She sniffles and smiles, pausing to wipe her nose on her arm.Okay,gross.
“Sure can.” I reach for a wet wipe to clean off thesnot.
After we set up all the ingredients for the cookies, I pin her drawing to the fridge with amagnet.
When I turn back to Mila, she motions me closer. Leaning close, she points to her drawing and whispers in my ear, “You’re thebutterfly.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “Butterflies are myfavorite.”
Aww.“Thanks, babe. You and Cody are myfavorite.”
She whispers solemnly, “What about my daddy? Is he your favoritetoo?”
That’s an easy answer. “Absolutely.”
Probably more than I’d care toadmit.
An hour later,I’m writing the directions down as quickly as possible, but Beverly’s zipping through the recipe faster than I canwrite.
Pushing the phone higher with my shoulder, I hum into the receiver. “Wait, so you use icewater?”
“Oh, yes. The colder you get the ingredients before you roll it, the better. Otherwise, it’ll get sticky. I also roll out the ball of dough between two large sheets of plastic wrap so you don’t have to peel it off a counter. Wayeasier.”
“You’re a genius. My crusts never come out right, but I’m going to try this. Baking is tougher for me, so I appreciate thetips.”
“Be sure you send me apicture.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Of mycrust?”
“Heck, yes, girl. Gonna be checking yourwork.”
She’s snickering into the phone, and I’m shaking my head. “The pressure!” I joke. The front door opens, and my pulse kicks up. “Hey, I think Ethan’shome.”
When he enters the kitchen, my attention snags on how handsome he looks in a suit.Damn, he cleans up nicely.Except when we make eye contact, his grim expression makes my stomachclench.
“It’s your mom.” I motion to the phone, my heart sinking when he shakes his head because he always takes hercalls.
Logan walks up behind him, slaps him on the back, and tells me they’ll be in the backoffice.
I nod, watching the brothers disappear down thehall.
“Um, Beverly, can he call you backlater?”
She’s quiet. “You have my number now. Call me if you or my son needanything.”
“Yes, ma’am. I sure will. We could FaceTime this week if you want so you can see the kids. They missyou.”
