outside?” I asked him as he
entered and immediately dropped to his knees to cuddle
Steve. “It’s going to pour.”
“Cece brought me home and she was being loud, so I
left.”
My eyebrows met above my nose as I tried to process.
“Cece?”
“My mom,” he said with a slight hint of annoyance
that said I should have known that.
“Oh.” She was being loud? at didn’t sound good.
“Was she fighting with your other mom?”
He shrugged and kept his eyes on Steve. “ey always
fight.”
“What were they fighting about?” I cringed, the
realization that I was totally going to hell for siphoning
information from him about his moms’ dysfunctional
relationship tapping me squarely on the shoulder.
He didn’t look at me when he spoke and kept his eyes
and hands on Steve. “Mom said Cece was early. She asked
her if it would kill her to spend more time with me.” en
he shrugged again, such a kid thing to do. “Whatever.”
Even at thirty-four years old, the childhood pain of
not being worth the time of your parents could sneak up
on me and whack me over the head like a board and I
suddenly felt great sympathy for this little boy who, just
moments ago, I was wishing would disappear. I was
ambushed by the unexpected need to make him feel better.
“Hey,” I said, making my voice sound sort of
conspiratorial. “Guess what I was just doing.”
He blinked those deep dark eyes at me, so much like
his mother’s. “What?”
“Making chocolate chip cookies.”
97
Georgia Beers
His eyebrows made a show of trying to climb up into
his hairline and his big eyes grew even wider. “You were?”
“Yep. Want to help?”
“Can I?”
“Absolutely.”
Sharing my kitchen and my baking duties with
anybody but Grandma was not something I was good at
and letting Max help was an exercise in self-control. It
took all the energy I had to let him do stuff himself, like
measuring and stirring, because my instinct was to take
over and do it right. I bit my lip whenever he spilled
something and made myself look away while he cracked
eggs. I guess the fact that I was well aware of my control
freakishness was a good thing, but by the time we had the
batter ready to go, I had a splitting headache from
clenching my jaw.
Instead of occupying his usual space in the living room
while I cooked, Steve stayed in the kitchen with us—and
by “us” I mean Max—the whole time we were working. I
shot him a betrayed glare every now and then, but he
pretended not to notice.
By the time we got the first batch of cookies into the
oven, half an hour had gone by. Upon shutting the oven
door, Max and I high-fived and I tried not to look as
relieved as I felt.
“Nice work, Mr. Assistant Chef,” I said to him.
His little giggle was so cute, I couldn’t help but giggle
a little myself and ruffle the top of his brown head. He
dropped to his knees in front of the oven and watched the
cookies bake through the window. When the timer dinged
nine minutes later, he was still there.
98
Starting From Scratch
As I backed him up and put an oven mitt on my hand,
there came a banging on the front door. Apparently, I
didn’t move quickly enough getting the cookies out of the
oven because there was more banging before I was in any
shape to answer.
“All right, all right,” I muttered as I nudged a barking
Steve out of my way with my foot.
e knocker was a harried-looking Elena Walker, hair
disheveled, eyes darting. Before either of us could speak,
her gaze landed on Max and she flew at him, falling to her
knees and crushing him in a bear hug.
“ere you are,” she said, a frantic note of desperation
in her voice.
It was only then that I realized we probably should
have let her know where her son was. I winced as the guilt
seeped in. How stupid could I be?
“I’m so sorry,” was all I could get out before she started
jabbering to Max, as anxious mothers are wont to
entered and immediately dropped to his knees to cuddle
Steve. “It’s going to pour.”
“Cece brought me home and she was being loud, so I
left.”
My eyebrows met above my nose as I tried to process.
“Cece?”
“My mom,” he said with a slight hint of annoyance
that said I should have known that.
“Oh.” She was being loud? at didn’t sound good.
“Was she fighting with your other mom?”
He shrugged and kept his eyes on Steve. “ey always
fight.”
“What were they fighting about?” I cringed, the
realization that I was totally going to hell for siphoning
information from him about his moms’ dysfunctional
relationship tapping me squarely on the shoulder.
He didn’t look at me when he spoke and kept his eyes
and hands on Steve. “Mom said Cece was early. She asked
her if it would kill her to spend more time with me.” en
he shrugged again, such a kid thing to do. “Whatever.”
Even at thirty-four years old, the childhood pain of
not being worth the time of your parents could sneak up
on me and whack me over the head like a board and I
suddenly felt great sympathy for this little boy who, just
moments ago, I was wishing would disappear. I was
ambushed by the unexpected need to make him feel better.
“Hey,” I said, making my voice sound sort of
conspiratorial. “Guess what I was just doing.”
He blinked those deep dark eyes at me, so much like
his mother’s. “What?”
“Making chocolate chip cookies.”
97
Georgia Beers
His eyebrows made a show of trying to climb up into
his hairline and his big eyes grew even wider. “You were?”
“Yep. Want to help?”
“Can I?”
“Absolutely.”
Sharing my kitchen and my baking duties with
anybody but Grandma was not something I was good at
and letting Max help was an exercise in self-control. It
took all the energy I had to let him do stuff himself, like
measuring and stirring, because my instinct was to take
over and do it right. I bit my lip whenever he spilled
something and made myself look away while he cracked
eggs. I guess the fact that I was well aware of my control
freakishness was a good thing, but by the time we had the
batter ready to go, I had a splitting headache from
clenching my jaw.
Instead of occupying his usual space in the living room
while I cooked, Steve stayed in the kitchen with us—and
by “us” I mean Max—the whole time we were working. I
shot him a betrayed glare every now and then, but he
pretended not to notice.
By the time we got the first batch of cookies into the
oven, half an hour had gone by. Upon shutting the oven
door, Max and I high-fived and I tried not to look as
relieved as I felt.
“Nice work, Mr. Assistant Chef,” I said to him.
His little giggle was so cute, I couldn’t help but giggle
a little myself and ruffle the top of his brown head. He
dropped to his knees in front of the oven and watched the
cookies bake through the window. When the timer dinged
nine minutes later, he was still there.
98
Starting From Scratch
As I backed him up and put an oven mitt on my hand,
there came a banging on the front door. Apparently, I
didn’t move quickly enough getting the cookies out of the
oven because there was more banging before I was in any
shape to answer.
“All right, all right,” I muttered as I nudged a barking
Steve out of my way with my foot.
e knocker was a harried-looking Elena Walker, hair
disheveled, eyes darting. Before either of us could speak,
her gaze landed on Max and she flew at him, falling to her
knees and crushing him in a bear hug.
“ere you are,” she said, a frantic note of desperation
in her voice.
It was only then that I realized we probably should
have let her know where her son was. I winced as the guilt
seeped in. How stupid could I be?
“I’m so sorry,” was all I could get out before she started
jabbering to Max, as anxious mothers are wont to
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