Page 36 of Please Send Snow
“What about your dad?” I ask him. “Is he allergic?”
“Nope,” he says.
That checks out. They probably wouldn’t have it here if they were allergic, but this is a rental and it’s possible that someone could have left it behind.
“Well, I have good news,” I announce. “We’re going to have snacks for lunch.”
“Snacks for lunch?” Dylan echoes dubiously.
“Yes,” I say. “All the best writers have snacks for lunch sometimes, especially if they’re on a deadline. Did you know you can write a bookwhileyou’re eating snacks?”
“You can?” he asks.
“Sure can,” I tell him, spinning the lid off the peanut butter. “It’s a real advantage. I’d like to see someone try to write a book while they’re eating a bowl of stew.”
That makes him laugh and I feel really happy too.
“Here,” I tell him, handing him the box of crackers. “Put some of these on plates for us. Make sure they’re spread out, not stacked on top of each other.”
He nods his head and I get two plates out of the cupboard and set them on the counter for him.
“What about Dad?” he asks me.
“Good point,” I say. “He’s hard at work, but he can still probably eat snacks.”
I fetch a third plate, and Dylan starts laying out crackers on them.
There’s mustard and sliced cheese in the fridge and I grab those and set them on the counter along with a couple of butter knives.
I wash two apples and cut them up, and when I turn around, I see that Dylan has about twenty crackers on each plate.
“Oh wow,” I tell him. “You were quick.”
He puffs up with pride.
“I’m not sure if I’m hungry enough for that many crackers though,” I tell him diplomatically. “Let’s put a few back.”
“Okay,” he says, nodding.
By the time we’re done fixing the lunch, it actually looks amazing. Each plate has a few peanut butter crackers—some with a bit of apple, some without, and a few cheese and mustard crackers, along with a nice handful of sliced apples.
It took us a while, but Dylan really enjoyed himself, and it felt as much like an art project as a meal. We still haven’t looked at screens yet today, which I figure is a plus.
I don’t have a lot of babysitting experience, but I tell myself that we’re nailing it so far.
I was feeling a little afraid that yesterday was fun onlybecause I was a new person in Dylan’s world. But we really do get along like two peas in a pod.
“Now we just need three glasses of nice cold water,” I tell Dylan.
The fridge is the fancy type with a cold-water dispenser. Dylan stands on a chair to fill each glass with me beside him, making sure he doesn’t drop the glasses or fall off the chair.
When everything is ready, he proudly carries his dad’s plate down the hallway toward the office. I follow with a glass of water.
We talked about staying super quiet if his dad is on the phone, and sure enough, Jake is still pacing and talking when we get to the door.
He turns with his usual impatient look when he hears me push the door open—jaw tight, eyes an icy flash of blue. It’s equal parts intimidating and gorgeous, and for a moment, I’m not even sure how to react.
He watches Dylan slip in and put a plate of snacks on his massive mahogany desk and his expression softens. I place the water on a coaster next to the plate, careful not to risk leaving a ring, and head for the door.
