Tough Cookies (New Year New Me 1)

“Clem. What’s this?”

She turns to look over her shoulder. Her face goes blank.

“Did you get into trouble?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Daddy and Ms. Brittany said not to show you that because it would upset you.”

Unballing it, I smooth it out. My heart drops. It’s an announcement for a cookie contest at the bake sale in February.

“Are you sad now, Mommy?” she asks, her voice small.

“No, honey.” I stand up and walk over to her. “Who makes mistakes?”

Her nose wrinkles up. “Everyone?”

“Exactly, and Mom and Dad are human, so we’re not perfect, right?”

She nods.

“You never have to be worried to show or tell me anything, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“What’s the most important thing about mistakes? Because we’re always going to make them.”

“To learn from them.”

“Right. And that is exactly what Mom is going to do. I’m taking baking lessons.”

“You are?” she shouts.

Laughing, I nod my head. “Yes, ma’am. I have to give us a fighting chance at winning, don’t I?”

She nods, throwing herself at me. I grin, accepting her impromptu hug.

“First-prize is an annual pass to the aquarium.”

“I know someone who loves going there.”

“Me.”

I kiss her head, inhaling the coconut scent of her leave-in curl tamer. She’s the reason I signed Anders’ ridiculous contract. He wants to film in the house and potentially air it on his channel. I understand why, but I hate the thought of being back on the screen for all to see. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, and February is fast approaching. If I want to win this, I need to do more than bake a decent chocolate chip cookie. I have to deliver something with pizzazz.

“Ms. Brittany already entered.”

“Oh, did she now?” I ask sweetly.

“Mmm, hmm. Ms. Brittany said she’d win it for me.”

“And what do you think about that?” I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral.

“I’d rather make cookies with you, Mommy. I don’t like Ms. Brittany.” Her voice is low as if she’s sharing a secret.

“Why not?” If she’s upsetting my little girl in some way ...

“She always wants to dress me up in frilly dresses and pink.” Her tiny brow furrows, forming a crease between her eyebrows. “I keep telling her my favorite color is black.”

“And she doesn’t listen?”