Page 32 of A Little Twist

“Thanks,” I laugh, dipping another, smaller scoop and dropping it in.

She lifts her chin. “That one’s better. Do more like that one.”

It’s possible my little perfectionist apple didn’t fall too far from the tree… if that’s how the saying goes.

We’re observing our Sunday morning tradition—penny cakes with butter, powdered sugar, and real maple syrup. Penny cakes are the one thing I can cook, according to her, only now that she’s old enough to supervise, she likes her penny cakes no bigger than a quarter and not too brown.

After shutting down the reception last night, I carried this sleeping nugget out to my car with Cass following us, holding my hand because Drake Redford stayed until the very end. I got the feeling he was watching us the entire time, hoping to catch us lying.

Joke’s on him. I actually enjoyed holding Cass’s hand and spending the evening with her and my daughter. I like watching them getting to know each other.

I’ve always had the lingering fear I’m letting Pinky down somehow. I’m a single dad who grew up with two brothers. I don’t know the first thing about what a little girl needs.

Mom’s been a great help, and she reassures me all the time I’m doing a good job. Still, Cass seems to have that girly vibe on lock. I’m looking forward to her taking the reins and answering all of Pinky’s questions.

“Did Gram tell you she’s going to Italy with her sisters?” I flip the tiny pancakes as Pinky watches me for any sign of error.

Her curly head nods, her small voice focused. “She’s going to stay in a house on Lake Coco, and they’re going to drink lemon cellos because it’s Aunt Pearl’s favorite.”

“It’s Lake Como, and they’ll drink limoncello.”

Her tiny brow furrows, and she looks up at me. “That’s what I said, Daddy.”

“Anyway, she’s going to be gone until school starts, so I asked someone to come and stay with us to keep you company.”

Pinky’s lips press together, and a flash of worry crosses her face. “You’re not going to stay with me?”

That’s a punch of guilt straight to the gut.

“I have to work, Baby, but remember Miss Cass from last night?” She nods slowly. “I asked her to come and stay with us. Is that okay?”

Her little eyes widen, and she sits up straight on the bar across from me. “Miss Cass, my dance teacher? Will she make us a delicious cake?”

I exhale a sigh of relief and scoop the final penny cakes onto a small plate. “Maybe. If we ask nicely.”

“I can ask really, really nice. Gram taught me. Want to hear?”

“Sure. Sit in the stool.”

She climbs into the barstool, and I put the plate in front of her with a ramekin of maple syrup.

She squares her little shoulders, puts her hands in her lap, and blinks up at me with round eyes. “Daddy, would you please pass me the powdered sugar?”

Her expression is so serious, I can’t help a laugh, which makes her frown immediately.

“Why are you laughing? I asked real nice like Gram said.”

Biting back my grin, I nod. “Sorry, Sweet P, you asked very nicely. That was very good.” Grabbing the glass bottle of powdered sugar, I hand it to her. “Not too much, now.”

She turns it over, giving the bottle a hard shake, and I take the stool beside her with my cup of coffee. For a moment, I watch her dancing in her chair side to side as she swirls her tiny pancakes in the syrup and eats them.

I managed to get her hair back in one of those little scrunchies so she doesn’t get it all sticky. I’m always amazed how my mom can just walk up and with one hand, whip it out of her face in two seconds flat. It takes me two minutes, two hands, andmuchwhining from my daughter.

Today’s ponytail isn’t straight or neat, but it’s doing its job.

“When Miss Cass gets here, I need you to be a good helper for her. Can you do that?”

She finishes her bite, nodding vigorously as she continues rocking side to side in her chair. “Miss Murphy said I’m the best helper. She let me move my monkey all the way to the finish line for helping.”

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