Page 26 of Ice, Love, & Other Penalties

“Yesterday it was eggs and strawberries.” Myra crosses her arms with an exaggerated pout. “I want pancakes.”

“Let’s check what’s in the pantry and fridge.” I swing my legs out of bed. “Ready to go?”

Myra nods and I scoop her up, making airplane noises as I carry her all the way downstairs to the kitchen. She giggles and spreads her arms out like wings. Once I set her on the floor, we scan the contents of the cupboards and refrigerator. I suggest my famous poached eggs, but she scrunches her nose.

Then I say, “How about oatmeal with freeze dried fruit?” That earns me another pout from Myra.

“Okay, no eggs or oatmeal today. How about . . . fruit salad, yogurt, and cereal?”

Myra gives me a firm nod, her expression brightening. I take out the ingredients while she sets her small stool in place, ready to assist me.

“You’re the best little helper in the world,” I tell her warmly as she opens the cereal box and sets the two crystal bowls on the counter for the yogurt.

“Really?” She glances up at me hopefully.

I smile and nod in confirmation. Just then, the doorbell rings sharply, slicing through the cozy kitchen.

“Who’s that? A delivery?” Myra’s attention is instantly divided, her curiosity piqued by whoever is at our door but also by the yogurt she needs to pour into the bowls.

“I guess we’ll have to find out.” I rinse my hands and wipe them with a dish towel.

“Maybe it’s Grandma,” Myra suggests, bouncing on her toes with a sparkle of hope in her eyes.

Doubtful, I don’t say. For that to happen I’d have to buy her ticket—first class, as well as bribe her with something and also pay her expenses because . . . Well, I don’t know what my mother will use as an excuse, but I know for sure it isn’t her.

“It could be a surprise,” I offer instead, racking my brain. Maybe I ordered something within the last couple of days and it’s arriving today.

Myra slips off her stool, her small feet hitting the floor with soft thuds as she trails behind me to the door. The possibility of a neighbor dropping by to welcome us crosses my mind as I reach for the handle, but the sight that greets us sweeps away all such mundane expectations.

Indie, with Rigby by her side, stands on our doorstep. The morning’s interruption suddenly transforms into a pleasant surprise in an instant. Indie looks beautiful, yet different from yesterday. Her hair is captured in a carefree bun, wispy strands framing her lovely face, highlighting her natural beauty. She’s wearing a flowing purple blouse paired with ripped jeans. The simplicity of her attire only adds to her charm, making her look effortlessly adorable.

“Good morning,” she says, her voice carrying the warmth of the sun that’s hidden from view. Her smile, wide and sincere, lights up her face. “Hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

Before I can respond, Myra rushes past me, darting toward the pup. “Rigby,” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around the dog who meets her embrace with nothing but patient affection, his tail keeping a slow, contented beat.

“Seems like you brought her a new best friend,” I say, my eyes briefly scanning Indie’s surroundings for a carrier or . . . Well, I don’t know where else she’d contain her cat. Since I don’t see her with the carrier I ask, “Where’s David?”

Indie brushes a stray lock of hair from her face and gives a small smile. “He stayed with my cousins. Long story.”

“We’re about to have breakfast. Would you like to join us?” I suggest, stepping aside to welcome them further into our home.

“Sure,” she replies, her voice softer now, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Rigby gives an approving bark, as though seconding the motion. “He definitely agrees, though I doubt you have anything for him.”

“Sorry, we don’t have dog treats but if you give us a list, we’ll be happy to stock our pantry with them,” I say as we move back into the kitchen.

Myra turns to Indie and says. “Now that you’re here, can you make pancakes à la Indie?”

“She’s not here to work, pumpkin,” I remind her gently, trying to temper her expectations without dimming the spark in her eyes.

Myra’s bottom lip quivers ever so slightly, her big eyes shimmering with a blend of hope and calculated sadness. It’s the look that has swayed me countless times before. No one, and I mean no one, can say no to this child.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, I watch the scene unfold before me. There it is—the inevitable crumbling of Indie’s defenses under the sheer power of Myra’s pleading gaze. Who could blame her? Those wide, hopeful eyes have a way of bending the world to their will.

Indie crouches down, meeting Myra at eye level. “Why don’t we leave that for Tuesday morning? Remember, that’s when I’m coming with Dave and Rig for a sleepover.”

There’s a long silence after Indie’s suggestion. I can almost see the gears turning in Myra’s head, weighing the disappointment against the delayed gratification.

“I’m here just to check the rooms,” Indie continues, straightening up and casting a brief glance my way.

---