Page 55 of It's in the Contract
“ALEXPLAYMIA’SMIX,” she yells again.
I wince. “I don’t think it can understand?—”
“ALEXAPLAYMIA’SMIX!!!!”
“Alexa, play Mia’s Mix,” I say.
The AI complies, and Mia sings along to the song. “Unicorns I love them, unicorns I love them.”
I blow out through my lips. This is going to be fun.
I don’t exactly know what “unicorn cookies” are meant to be, so I look up my favorite sugar cookie recipe on my phone. The recipe includes a hint of nutmeg to make the best soft frosted sugar cookies ever. I even hunt around in the drawers of teaspoons and spatulas until I find a unicorn cookie cutter, and Mia screams in delight.
A song about a space unicorn blasts through the kitchen while I beat butter and sugar together in a bowl.
“Do you know where the vanilla extract is, sweetie?” I ask.
Mia gives me a blank look with her large brown eyes. Her apron already has a streak of butter across it.
“Never mind.” I hunt through the cupboards until I find a bottle.
Mia insists on adding the flour herself, and it plops into the bowl, leaving a mushroom cloud of white dust that settles onto the counter. I cough and wave a hand in front of my face. I turn the beaters on low, but Mia takes them from my hands, and the dry ingredients fly all over the counter. My stress level is rising the bigger the mess gets. I’m worried that Zeke’s going to be upset, but he walks into the kitchen with a relaxed smile, like this is nothing he hasn’t seen before.
Zeke enters the room and tickles Mia before swiping a glob of sugar cookie dough. “Yum!” His eyes roll back in his head, and warmth floods my body.
“Oh my holy fudge. Callie. These are amazing!” Zeke goes for another glob of dough, and Mia sticks in her little fingers to grab a handful.
Mia chews thoughtfully. “More sprinkles.”
I lightly flour the counter and roll out the dough, and Mia helps me cut out unicorn shapes. I put the tray we finished in the oven and open the fridge for some butter for frosting. I hope Caroline wasn’t saving any of these ingredients for something in particular.
Mia insists on adding the powdered sugar to the bowl, and she also has to be the one to work the beaters for the buttercream frosting. A powdered sugar storm erupts all over the kitchen, and that’s right when Caroline walks in the door.
“I’m home!” She bustles in, wearing a sunshine yellow dress and a white purse slung over her shoulder, carrying an armload of groceries.
“Mama!” Mia clambers down from her chair and runs over to give her mom a hug. “I’m an evil baby unicorn, and Zeke is my mommy evil unicorn! We made unicorn cookies.”
Caroline glances around the kitchen, and I brace myself for the lecture about the mess, plus the fact that I’m feeding her four-year-old pure sugar before dinner, but Caroline just beams. “This looks like so much fun, honey. I can’t wait to try a unicorn cookie.” She winks at me, and my heart melts like a pat of butter.
“Alexa, stop,” Caroline says. Finally.
I add a splash of vanilla, cream, and a tiny pinch of salt to the frosting and beat it carefully so we don’t lose more powdered sugar. Zeke gives Caroline a hug and heads to the garage to help her bring in groceries.
Caroline sets down the paper bags she’s carrying on the counter. “Well, Miss Callie. I had a feeling you could bake. Those cookies look almost too pretty to eat.” She winks.
My stomach flips, and I almost drop the beaters. “Oh, uh . . .” My first instinct is to brush it off, to minimize my skills. But instead, I swallow and say, “Thank you.” I pick up a cookie and knife to spread on the frosting.
“One cookie, Mia,” Caroline says. “We still need to have dinner.” She turns to me with her enormous grin. “And Miss Callie is staying, right?”
I glance at Zeke while Mia dumps half a jar of sprinkles on top of her cookie and shoves it into her mouth with an expression of ecstasy.
Every Monday evening Mom is gone, teaching a crap ton of personal clients at the gym, so it’s dinner at home alone for me. I should want to be alone for a while after hurting my brain all day on chemistry. I should brainstorm more ideas to gather votes, or call Dana and see how the t-shirts she’s designing are coming.
But none of that appeals to me as much as staying in this warm house, with these people. With Zeke.
“I don’t want to intrude,” I say.
Zeke places a gallon of milk in the fridge and closes it. “It would never be an intrusion to have you here.”
