“Uh-huh.”
Torre took her hand, and they walked across the apartment. My idea of a perfect winter day would not have included trimming a tree and decorating my apartment to entertain a six-year-old girl. Then again, there had never been a Christmas with family, because there’d been no Torre, so I was willing to make concessions.
She and Torre rummaged through the bags, taking out all the knickknacks and stuff he’d spent hours dragging me through innumerable stores to buy. I’d let him run rampant, getting whatever he wanted since I had no clue what belonged on a tree, nor did I care too much. We’d ended up with some kitschy reindeer and Santas, a collection of brightly colored balls, and other assorted oh-so-cute ornaments. I drew the line at “Our First Christmas,” earning me a muttered “Spoilsport,” from Torre.
“I’m hungry.” Tina sat with the bags and ornaments strewn around her, and I cocked a brow.
“Uncle Torre?” I gave him a winning grin.
He glared for a second. “How about grilled cheese and tomato soup?”
She scrunched up her face. “No, I had that yesterday. I want pasta like me and Uncle Frisco made.”
Now it was Torre’s turn to smile. “Oh, I’m sure Uncle Frisco would love to make pasta with you.”
“Uncle Frisco is going to take a nap,” I said.
“Oh.” Her little shoulders slumped, and her smile faded. Big, sad brown eyes gazed up at me.
Dammit.
“After we make our pasta. It doesn’t take long, remember?”
Her bright smile beamed at me, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d brought someone such unfettered happiness. Something tight squeezed in my chest.
“Yay.” She jumped up and down again, and I winced.
“Okay, come with me.” We crossed the living room to the kitchen, where I picked her up and set her on one of the high stools in front of the large, custom-built island spanning almost the entire length of the kitchen. “We have to wash our hands. That’s the first thing every professional chef has to do.” We rinsed our hands in the small prep sink. “Now, do you remember how we make it?”
“Uh-huh. I think so, ’cause I watch Mommy and Daddy do it too.” She scrunched up her face. “Flour, eggs, water, an’ salt.” She ticked off on her fingers.
“Good girl. Now I’ll measure it out, and you stir. How’s that?”
“’Kay.”
I took the flour out of the cabinet. Torre was there to hand me the eggs and gave me a kiss when I took them from him.
“Thank you for doing this.”
“Don’t think I’m not keeping score. At this rate, you may not sleep for a week.” But I kissed him back, and his tongue tasted sweet from the syrup we’d had on our waffles for breakfast. I could feast on him all day long.
“Challenge accepted, but first, focus,” Torre said, breathing heavily and a bit pink in the face. He touched my cheek. “I know you’re not really into having her here.”
“Well, I was planning a different kind of afternoon, but the wait will make it all the better,bello.” I kissed him again. “And it’s not a big deal. She’s a sweet girl.” I left him and returned to the large island, where I measured out the flour and the water. “Go ahead.” I pointed to the large, clear space on the marble top I’d had set in specifically for pastry and dough. “Do you remember how?”
“Yeah.” She dumped out the flour and giggled. “It’s like a big mess.”
I tenderly stroked my beautiful Gaggeneau stovetop.
God help my poor kitchen. I’ll make it up to you, my darlings. I promise.
“Let’s hope not. But we’ll let your Uncle Torre clean it all up,” I said in a pretend whisper. “Because you and I are doing all the work, right?”
“Yeah. Me ’n you. We do everything.”
I raised a brow and smirked at Torre. “I stand corrected. Not just sweet. A brilliant child.”
He returned my grin with a glint in his eye I didn’t like.
