“I think you really might be the princess in that story, then,” I told him. “You want to get lunch today? And by lunch, I mean, do you want to come here and I can make you something.” I’d thought long and hard about what I wanted to do for him, and one of those things was making sure he got his veggies.
“I’ll have to check my schedule,” he said, his voice pitching with excitement. I knew even with whatever schedule he had, he was going to make room for me. “But it should be fine.”
“Good, good, that’s what I thought,” I said. “So, I’ll see you around lunch.”
“Call it one p.m. and I’ll be there.”
That gave me plenty of time, although I knew what I was making for him already, and I didn’t quite need the entire morning to make it. I wasn’t going to be doing anything by half measures when it came to him. I had to show Leo that I was committed to the ethos of being a Daddy, and that ethos meant making sure my little got his five fruits and veggies a day, a healthy meal, and a sweet treat because he deserved it.
After the cake batter was poured into small cake pans, I put them in the rack-stand oven. They were small and not very densely packed, so they all managed to fit snugly on the same shelf. I had plans for each of them—some would be typical sponge with a strawberry jam filling, and others would make use of the fruits I could find from the local market. The chocolate one would have to wait for me to get a little more practice in; I seemed to always burn those.
My baking repertoire wasn’t the most expansive, and that was because I wasn’t a classically trained baker, or however they phrased it on the baking shows. I was what they’d consider an “athome” baker, and now a bakery owner. I’d taken a class hereand there on the weekends, especially for decorating cakes, and my first few attempts had been rough, like piping bags exploding and a disaster of overpowering flavors. It’s how I learned that less is more when it came to those essence droppers.
With the timer going off, I took the cakes out and let them rest. It gave me the opportunity to head to the market and the small local shops down the main street for the ingredients I’d need for lunch.
Pineberry Falls. It was magical even to say it, like casting a spell which only made me chuckle to think about. It was rubbing off on me in the best way. Everyone was helpful, directing me to the ripest tomatoes and the best carrots. I grabbed a lot of things I should’ve already had as well, like vegetable stock, onions, garlic, and even a couple of tiny herb plants in pots. But the last and main ingredient I needed was a good cheese.
Leo: Oliver just saw you coming out of the store with a bunch of stuff. Now, I’m curious what you’re making.I’d only managed to look at his message once I was back at the bakery.
Me: You’ll have to wait and find out.I sent back.
Me: Also, didn’t realize you had people watching me.I added with a winky face emoji.
He sent me back a bunch of emojis I could only interpret as him trying to be shy—a monkey covering its eyes, a half smile with tears in its eyes, and one with a drip of sweat in the corner. It was adorable. I just told him I’d see him later, and to bring his appetite. I was going to expect a very empty bowl once he was done.
I was making tomato soup and making full use of all the features of the kitchen to make the best soup I’d ever created. I put my all into it, like I did everything I made. This one was extra special, though, because I’d made it just for him, and me as well.
Giving the immersion blender some use, I blitzed everything into a smooth liquid. Not a single veggie could be seen within it, and it tasted divine. Thankfully, there was enough for me to store some away, assuming Leo didn’t try drink it right out of the pan. It was just that good.
Tomato soup alone wasn’t going to fill either of us up, which was where the grilled cheese sandwiches came in—and those would be made much later, freshly, right before his eyes. And since the soup was done and the cakes had cooled to a perfect temperature to stuff and decorate, I had just enough on my plate to stay occupied until Leo got here.
He arrived with a gentle knock on the glass door pane. I might’ve mistaken it for that of a mouse knocking if it hadn’t been for the shadow he cast on the newspapers still covering the glass.
“I’m starving,” he said, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me with a big hug. “I did take the leftover pie with me to the community center, and I had a small nibble, but not enough to ruin my appetite.”
I squeezed him back. A light pop and crack from his back sounded out and he sighed, looking up at me and smiling. “I like this little patch of color you have in your hair,” I said.
“I’m trying to decide which color I want to go next,” he said, pushing his head forward and shaking his hair under my chin almost. “I have a lot of colors. Didn’t you see them all in the bathroom?”
My trip to the bathroom had been brief, and I hadn’t been there to snoop... although I had seen a lot of products covering the sink counter. I didn’t know what they were all for, but something told me they were the reason he smelled so good. I kissed his forehead. “I will do next time.”
He giggled. “Next time. I’m going to keep you to that promise, Daddy.”
“And next time might be a planned sleepover, so I don’t have to walk back here alone,” I said. I held his hand and led him through to the kitchen. “You sleep through the entire night, little one?”
“Surprisingly, yeah. Oh, wait, what have you made for lunch?”
“How long do you have for lunch is my next question?”
He shrugged. “It’s pretty flexible. How long do you want me for?”
I knew he was asking about lunch, but I was already willing to answer this question about time. And yet, my mouth wouldn’t let me speak. It was tongue-tied for the first time since I was fresh out of college giving my first commercial marketing pitch to a board of old men. Leo’s sweet face begged for an answer, and he blinked those big eyes at me. “I don’t want there to be a time limit on how long I want to spend with you,” I finally got out.
“I’ll have to ask my boss at the library, but I’m sure they won’t mind,” he said, breaking eye contact and looking around. “It smells like—” His brow furrowed. “I can’t really tell. It’s like cake and—well, a bit like garlic. I don’t know. I’m conflicted. Is it garlic cake?”
I laughed. “Good guess, but I’m gonna have to put a firm no on that one. It’s something I’m hoping you’ll enjoy, if not love with your entire being.”
“Phew, no pressure, then.”
