I chuckled. “You like making a mess, huh?”
She tapped her nose. Then mine. “Daddy makes meth.”
Haha, she was sure to get Hudson into trouble one day. I’d noticed she had more trouble pronouncing some words than the average three-year-old, but it wasn’t so bad I couldn’t understand her.
I choked on a laugh. “Your daddy makes a mess, huh?”
She grinned. “He make very big meth!” She flung her arms wide like she was describing a natural disaster.
Ronnie, one of the workers who’d been a year ahead of me in high school, caught sight of Ivy and waved us over. “Hey, Matty, couldn’t help seeing her eyeing the cakes. Would she like a sample?”
Ivy leaned forward.
“You wanna try a bite?” I asked.
She made a face.
“If you don’t like it, you can spit it out.”
“Kay, Matteeee,” she sang, drawing out my name like music.
“Which one would you like?” I turned toward the glass. “Go ahead. Choose.”
I held her close as she twisted, eyes scanning the rows like she was choosing treasure. Chocolate swirl. Strawberry shortcake. Lemon drizzle with a rainbow of sprinkles.
“Hmm… thinkin’.”
She was so damn cute.
“Take your time.”
She pointed. “Dat one.”
“The sprinkle one?”
She nodded firmly. “’Prinkly one.”
Ronnie handed over the napkin, and I offered it to Ivy. For a second, I hesitated. Should I even be giving her cake? What if Hudson didn’t want her eating sweets? But he hadn’t protested the ring pop. Ivy grabbed the cake and took a bite.
I held my breath.
She blinked.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
“Yum,” she whispered.
Relief flooded my chest so hard, I nearly staggered.
I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding on to that tension, waiting for her to spit it out or cry or push it away. But she liked it. She really liked it. And my heart cracked open right down the middle.
“You like it?” I asked softly. “Would you like some more?”
She nodded, licking a bit of frosting from her thumb.
“Matty! Woohoo, Matty!”
