“Don’t,” warns Crystal in a soft, low tone that only I can hear.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do whatever it is that you’re thinking about. Liam is a family friend and that’s all.”
“Better stay that way,” I caution.
“Just finish making the scones.” She wipes her hands down the full apron she slung over her neck and announces, “I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
“Hey.” I catch her apron strings and haul her back before she can escape. “Don’t go and buy new scones. These will turn out.”
She eyes my efforts with skepticism and says, “Sure, Dad.”
I know a lie when I hear it, but at this point, I opt to just let my kid go. After all, her leaving the kitchen removes her from the zone of danger, which I now realize is within twenty feet of Liam. I wonder if Lucy knows about this.
“Dad...Dad...Dad.”
I look up from the counter to see my son standing next to me. He moves my fist away from the dough that I’ve been hammering at. “Just take these.” He shoves a bag into my hand. “Come on, Liam, let’s go to my room.”
I open the bag, and the scent of freshly baked scones wafts up to my nose. There’s a commotion at the entrance, and I hear my wife’s voice.
“Shit.” Swiftly, I sweep the remnants of the battered dough into the garbage, dump Eden’s scones onto a plate, and throw a towel over the dishes in the sink. All evidence of my baking attempts are gone or disguised when Lucy walks in.
“Mmmm, what smells good?” she says.
“Me, of course.” I pull my wife into my arms. “Happy anniversary.” I present the plate of scones to her.
“Isn’t our anniversary next week?” She sniffs the scones appreciatively.
“It’s in six days, and we’re celebrating for a week. It’s our twentieth, and I thought we should do something special.”
“A week-long celebration. I like it. I wonder where you got the idea.” Her eyes twinkle in mischief.
I grin. “A very smart businesswoman I know offers it as part of her event planning services.”
“So you stole it.”
“I stole it,” I confirm.
“And these scones.”
“Not stolen. Paid for.”
She takes a bite of one. “Blueberry. My favorite.” Lucy reaches for her phone. “I’ll have to let Eden know how much I like these with the sugar on top.”
“Did you think for a moment that I made these?”
“No, darling. You’re good at a lot of things, but you’re terrible in the kitchen. I do appreciate the annual attempt to make me something.” She peers around my shoulder. “What was the sacrifice this time?”
“It was scones, Mommy.” Crystal comes bounding in. My daughter, the spitting image of her mother, gives Lucy a peck on the cheek. “We made him throw them away. You can thank me later in the form of in-game crystals for my latest game.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Hey, Mom. You’re home.” Dre pushes his sister—and me—out of the way to lift Lucy up in the air. “Happy A day. We saved you from having to choke down a block of wood.”
“You were making me wood?” Lucy arches an eyebrow up.
“I was making scones.”
“It was hard as a rock, though,” Crystal adds.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I fold my arms across my chest and mock-glare at my daughter.
“It was,” Dre says. “He was pounding on it, pretending it was Liam’s face.”
“Shut up, Dre!” Crystal yells and tries to hit her brother. The older boy dodges the blow. He grabs four of the scones and then disappears out of the kitchen, followed by an incensed younger sister.
“Oh, you finally noticed Crys has a thing for Eden’s boy.” Lucy smiles.
“What’s there to smile about?” I grouch.
“Nothing, darling.” Lucy pats my cheek. “She’s only fifteen. Nothing will happen until they’re both ready.”
“You are not making me feel better.”
“You can’t want Crys to remain—”
I kiss Lucy. It’s the only way I know how to make her not say the things I don’t want to hear. It’s been the way I’ve handled things since I first met her, and it is surprisingly still effective. I lift my mouth and gaze appreciatively at Lucy’s now glossy lips and her bright eyes.
“The only two people in this house that should be kissing and making eyes at each other is you and me,” I tell my wife of twenty years.
She laughs and lays her cheek against my chest. “I knew you were going to have a hard time when we saw that we were having a girl.”
“Am I being unbearable?” I wonder.
“No. Not at all. Adorable, actually. I love you,” Lucy says. “Now kiss me some more so you can forget what is happening upstairs.”
“Something is happening upstairs?” I nearly shout in alarm. But before I can charge up to my daughter’s bedroom, Lucy captures my mouth with hers. I guess she’s learned to shut me up too.