Page 2 of Other Side Of Never
I pointedly looked at my watch.“Double A, it’s 9:00 a.m.”Putting my hands on my hips, I pretended to study her.“Do you need to go to the doctor?Perhaps get some testing done?”
Grabbing the broom, she lurched after me, giving me a good pop on my ass with the bristly side.“Stop calling me Double A.I’m not a battery.”
“Would you prefer Auntie Anita?”
“I’m too young to be your aunt.”She side-eyed me slyly.“Or maybe you’re too old to be my niece.”
“Okay, okay,” I spoke through my laughter, holding my hands up in surrender.“I’m sorry.”
“You always were a little rascal,” she grumbled, not quite able to quell her smile.“Just like my brother.”
Younger than my dad by nearly fifteen years, she had been the recipient of the best and the worst of him.Mercilessly teased, outrageously spoiled, and fiercely protected, she grew up under the shelter of his wide wing.
And did not hesitate to take me under hers.
God, I missed him.
From the pain on her face, I knew she did too.
“Okay, Auntie.No more Double A,” I said softly.“What are we doing today?”
She wagged a finger in my face.“Never apologize for being you, duckie.If you want to make your heart your home, you lean in.”She cocked a burnished eyebrow in my direction, her eyes twinkling.“I came in extra early and finished all my baking.You want free rein in the kitchen?”
I brightened.“Yeah?”
“Go for it.”She picked up her E-reader and left the counter behind as she headed for the tiny corner table she favored when the store was quiet.“And make me one of those hot cocoas you’re always bragging about.”
I grinned.“Yes, ma’am.”
Sharply, she reprimanded, “Don’t call me ma’am!”
I laughed as she continued to grumble, so fucking thankful she loved me so wholeheartedly as I pulled out the tools of my trade.
I inhaled deeply, something loosening in my chest as I filled my lungs with the sweet smell of chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon and rich cream.
The kitchen was the one place I always felt at home.
Here, my nerves calmed, my mind quieted, and my senses came alive.
Setting a cup of whole milk to warm on the stove, I measured out and chopped a few squares of dark chocolate, resisting the urge to lick my fingers.Whisking it into rich, creamy milk steaming with brown sugar, a splash of vanilla, and a pinch each of espresso and salt, the heavenly smell washed over me.
This was the smell of home.
Of family.
Of my mom at the stove, and my dad poking at the logs in the fireplace on cold winter nights.That house was a home.
Why didn’t anybody have a log-burning fireplace anymore?
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I poured the rich, chocolatey goodness into a thick, ceramic mug and delivered it to my aunt before returning to the kitchen and retreating into my bliss.
Hours passed in mere minutes.I slid three full pans of assorted chocolates into the fridge, then straightened my aching spine and rolled the cricks out of my neck.
Only then did I notice the laughter coming from the front of the store.
Pulling the chocolate dusted apron over my head, I tossed it in the bin to be laundered, a task I’d taken off my aunt’s hands, and followed the sound of happiness.
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