Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

“Ohhhh!” Sammy squeals, but before he can run, Willow cracks an egg over his head. Then she picks up a handful of flour and throws it at me, and it sticks to the egg and covers the floor.

“That’s it,” I cry. “It’s war.” I pick up another egg and pull my arm back to hurl it at her.

Ding dong.

We all freeze on the spot and turn towards the sound of the doorbell. “Who’s that?” I whisper.

Sammy jumps down and runs to the window to look out. “Grandma!”

“What?”

“Grandma’s here.”

“Shit,” Willow cries.

“Oh no.” I bounce on the spot in a panic and the doorbell rings again right before the front door opens. Shit, we left it unlocked.

“Hello?” Their grandma calls.

The three of us go into overdrive as we quickly try to wipe up the flour from the floor, but Grandma appears before we can dispose of the evidence.

Her face falls as she walks into the room.

“Why…?” Her voice trails off as she looks around. “What on earth is going on here?”

I look around at the mess. “We’re cooking.” I wince.

She’s a very stylish and attractive woman, in her late fifties or early sixties at the most. She’s wearing a tight black woolen dress, and in low black heels. Her hair is styled in a perfect blonde bob, and she is wearing a coral color lipstick to compliment her outfit.

She has money. It’s blatantly obvious.

The shock on her face is priceless, and I bite my bottom lip nervously. "I'm Brielle," I tell her with a smile. I put my hand out but realize it's covered in flour and dough. "I would shake your hand, but..." I show her my palm.

“I’m Frances.” She frowns, and then turns her attention to the children. “Hello, dears. I thought I would come and check on you, what with your father being away.”

The children both smile cheekily.

She looks around and picks a piece of eggshell out of Sammy’s hair.

Oh hell, what must this look like? We all have eggs smashed over our heads and chests, and I am completely white-faced from the flour.

“This is most unexpected,” she mutters, almost to herself.

“We’re cooking,” Willow offers as an excuse. “And….” She pauses as she tries to think of a reason. “The eggs slipped out of our hands.”

“Slippery little suckers,” Sammy adds.

I laugh because that story is just ridiculous. “I’m sorry, but you’ve caught us in the middle of a good old fashioned food fight.”

Frances smiles awkwardly. “So I see.” She looks me up and down. “So, you’re Miss Brielle?”

“Yes.” I smile as I dust some flour from my shirt. “Nice to meet you.”

Her eyes dance with delight. “Julian said you were very different. Now I see why.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Oh, kids, haven’t I had a dreadful first week? I’ve made every mistake possible.”

The kids both nod with enthusiasm.