Page 50 of Rumor Has It

Cassidy holds the warm waffle to my lips. I tear off a bite and moan. It tastes amazing. I can’t hold back, and I open my mouth for the rest.

“Mmm…I thought you didn’t cook on your days off?”

“I didn’t make these, and I’ll ignore my rules when Emeran is excited to bake Christmas cookies.”

We squeeze to the side as another toddler runs past on short legs. Two new adults are in hot pursuit. “Gotcha!” I hear accompanied by a pint-sized squeal of delight.

I laugh lightheartedly because Cassidy beams with pure joy. She glows when she’s happy.

“Where did all these people come from?” I ask.

“It’s not even dinnertime. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

?????

Cassidy is close with her niece and nephew. Wilder and Emeran latch onto me when Gracyn introduces me as their aunt’s special company.

Wilder drags me into the living room where the Douglas Fir stands. His dad and grandfathers have strung the lights on the tree. He hands me the garland, thinking because I’m an adult I have a clue what I’m doing.

The room fills with more school-aged kids and the ornaments come out next. All of them seem to know who I am, but don’t treat me like a big shot—something I unfortunately came to expect whenever I was with Kylie. She needed to be the center of attention. The young patients at children’s hospitals aware of her celebrity mesmerized her and received most of her attention.

Wilder directs my placement of the higher ornaments so that I get it right. He refuses to concede the star to Emeran even for her to look at. When we’re finishing, I wind up holding Cassidy’s nephew on my shoulders so Wilder can place it on top.

Afterwards, I try to ignore the protests of tearful babies who disappear at nap time to the suites surrounding mine. The adults toss the older kids out onto the lawn outside the morning porch. The kids choose teams and their parents cheer them on—and sometimes jump in to play—during a game of flag football. All the quints’ grandkids are thrilled to be here. They treat one another more like brothers and sisters. Minus the ones who torment each other like Emeran and Wilder, making it obvious they are actual siblings.

I’m about to pop into the kitchen to grab a drink when Emeran decides she’s done with the game and asks me to help her frost cookies with the flood icing she made with Cassidy earlier. Everyone’s jaws drop. They swear she won’t bake with anyone but her aunt.

Baked and cooled cookies wait for us on the big working table in the summer kitchen along with prefilled tubes of icing. Emeran assures me it’s easy. All I have to do is outline the bottom of the gingerbread men for the pants and use candy buttons for the shirt and eyes.

“But don’t fill in the pants,” she says.

“Why not?” I ask.

Emeran regards me in a because-I-said-so way and replies, “because there’s a different type of icing for that, and too much icing on a gingerbread man is gross.”

“I’m not sure I can do it then. I like gingerbread men with extra frosting.”

“Maybe it’s better if you do the snowflake sugar cookies.” She cringes like I’ve said I dip broccoli in ketchup and she should try it since it’s yum.

The snowflakes get flooded with the runnier icing. My nose close to the table top, I squeeze the tube too hard or not enough. I accidentally ruin the outline with my fat fingers, and when I add the light blue, silver, and sparkly sprinkles, I don’t get it done fast enough. The icing has dried and I have to tap the sprinkles in to get them to stick, leaving fingerprints.

“You’re not very good at grown up stuff.” Emeran says with a giggle.

“I’m not,” I concede, looking at Cassidy when she snorts. She’s leaning against the kitchen wall, watching us. “I’d like to get better.”

A secret smile graces Cassidy’s kissable lips. Her interactions with Chesney earlier made my heart rate accelerate the same way. Is this that elusive feeling? Because I’ve never felt a connection to someone so deeply before.

“Practice makes perfect.” Emeran dabs the icing in three spots and presses on candy buttons. “Keep trying.”

“You’re right.” I refocus on the girl.

“But are you good atanything?”

“Some say I’m a fair musician.” I shrug.

Emeran glances up from the bowl of candy buttons she’s pulling from. “Uncle Cris can give you music lessons. Gatlin says Uncle Cris is better than anybody at singing and guitars and all that stuff.”

“Thank you for the advice.”

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