“Are you sure Aunt Maggie needs to read the instructions? You seem to know them by heart.”
Wyatt grins. He is a cute kid. He’s nice. Not annoying and chaotic like some of the children I know. Hopefully Roman’s kid will take after Wyatt. “I don’t know how much milk. Maybe you bought a different brand of pudding than we buy. Or maybe it’s a different size. Maybe it’s bigger. Or maybe it’s smaller. But I hope it’s not smaller, because I’ve seen you eat, and it isa lot.”
I tear the box open, pull out the baggie of mix, and hand the empty container over to Maggie.
She flips on its front and reads the back. “Two cups of milk. Just like our pudding at home.”
I hand Wyatt the mix, certain he’ll want to dump it in. But he sets it back on the counter. “Not so fast, Saint Lucca. What else do the directions say?” Wyatt asks.
Maggie stifles a laugh. Her tongue swipes over her bottom lip, and I am distinctly reminded of the sweet taste of MaggiePie McCrae. So much sweeter than banana cream. I blink and breathe, knowing I involuntarily held my breath for a second.
Maggie lifts the box in her hands and reads, “Pour the cold milk into a mixing bowl.”
“Can you measure the milk?” he says to me. “I’ll pour it into the bowl. That’s a pretty important step. Aunt Maggie always has me do it.”
Maggie keeps reading while I search for a measuring cup. “Add the pudding.”
“See?” Wyatt says. “Pudding is second. Milk is first.”
“Aw. Got it.” I pour milk into a measuring cup and Wyatt dumps it into the bowl; we repeat the process. And then he looks at Maggie, waiting for her to continue the instructions.
“Whisk for about two minutes until it thickens. Let it sit for five minutes in the refrigerator.”
Wyatt nods. “See?Whisk. Banana cream pie will teach you to be a patient man, Lucca.”
“Oh, indeed.”
“Do you have a timer? We need one set for two minutes.”
Maggie and I watch as Wyatt sprinkles in the powdered mix, then, using the whisk, he stirs the concoction together. After a full two minutes—yes, he wasn’t kidding about that timer—we set the bowl in the fridge.
“After it’s all set, we mix in the whipped cream. Then we pour it into the pie tin. Ta-da!”
“Very nice,” I say. “What should we do while we wait?”
“We could watch the game,” Maggie says.
“Or we could play Go Fish. My mom taught me that one, and it’s a goody.”
“I have an even better idea.” I lift my brows, thinking of Fur Ball sleeping in my room. I peek at Maggie, but then I’m back on Wyatt. “Wait for me in the living room?”
“Okay.” Wyatt hops from the chair he’s standing on. “Is thisa surprise? Because surprises usually require you to close your eyes.”
“Then you better close your eyes.” I open my bedroom door, but before I slip inside, I peer back. “You too, Maggie. Close your eyes.”
Her lips purse. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.”
I laugh. “Your loss.”
I slip into my bedroom to see that Fur Ball hasn’t moved an inch from her curled-up ball in her kennel. Are all cats like this? I might have gotten one sooner. No wonder Maggie loves them.
I gather her up, fitting her easily in the cupped palms of my two hands, and walk her out to the living room.
Maggie’s smiling and looking at her nephew when I walk through the door. I keep my eyes on her, and I register the very second she looks at me, realizing what I have.
She pulls in a quick, short gasp, her eyes warming and her grin growing. Her fingertips press to her lips, but I can see the smile behind her hand. She watches as I bring Fur Ball over to Wyatt and lay her in his lap.
His eyes blink open and he peers down. Giggles erupt from him. Gently, he combs his hand over Fur Ball’s soft coat. And more giggles spill out of my little friend. “It’s a kitten,” he says.
