Page 38 of Please Send Snow
“Race you to the kitchen,” I tell him. “No cheating this time.”
His eyes light up.
I cheated in an earlier race, and it tickled him so much he didn’t even care that I took off ahead of him. Now it’s his turn.
“Okay, Maddie,” he says, giggling. “But look, an elephant.”
He points behind me and I turn, pretending to fall for it.
When I turn back, he’s so busy laughing at me thathe’s forgotten to actually use his advantage and run off. I make like I’m going to take off at top speed and he remembers and darts off.
Obviously I let him win the race, but I make sure to keep it close so I can enjoy his delight when he crosses the finish line and touches the kitchen island.
“Well, you won this time,” I tell him, scowling, but also winking at him so he’ll know I’m not really mad.
He giggles at me some more.
“Ready to make grilled cheese?” I ask him.
He nods up and down.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll get the cheese and butter. You get the spatula.”
“What’s asplat-lu-la?” he asks.
“Oh, it’s the thing we flip the sandwiches with,” I tell him, pointing to the correct drawer. “It’s in there.”
I head to the fridge for the cheese and butter. When I’m grabbing the bread, I notice that he’s getting something out of the drawer, but it’s not the spatula.
“What’s this?” he asks, holding out a metal rectangle on a stick.
“Oh, that’s a pie iron,” I tell him. “You use it to make mountain pies.”
I haven’t thought about mountain pies in forever, and just the idea of them makes me smile.
“What are mountain pies?”
“Well,” I explain. “You make a sandwich with whatever you want inside, then you butter the outside of the bread, and then you open up the rectangle and put it inside and cook it over the fire. I used to make them with my dad when we stayed up here. They were so good.”
His eyes get enormous, and he’s doing that thing where he’s standing stock still but it looks like he’s going to start vibrating with excitement.
“I want to do that,” he whispers. “Let’s do that.”
“One of these days maybe we can,” I tell him carefully. “But I can’t light a fire in the fire pit without your dad’s permission.”
Dylan is gone so fast it’s like I’m looking at a smoke outline.
I take off after him, but he’s bursting into the office before I can stop him.
Thankfully, for once, Jake isn’t pacing around on the phone and frowning. Instead, he’s frowning at his laptop.
“I’m sorry,” I pant as I trail in after Dylan. “I didn’t want him to disturb you. Come on, Dylan, let’s head back to the kitchen. We can make something awesome.”
“But,Dad,”Dylan wails. “Aren’t you the type of person who wants to eat amountain pie?”
Jake’s eyebrows go up at that, and it’s all I can do not to giggle.
“You know what, buddy?” Jake says, standing and running a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what that is, but I’m hungry enough to eat amountain horse.”
