“Yes.” He raised his hand, as if taking some sort of pledge. “I, Derrick Richardson, promise to do my best to do my duty to God and my country, to help other people—especially my scout leaders—and to obey the law of the pack.”
“You have a pack?”
He laughed and put his hand on my shoulder. “You have a lot to learn, Mari Hays.”
I sure did, and he made a fine teacher.
Derrick excused himself to talk to Mr. Henderson. I went back to work, waiting on a final customer before preparing to leave for the day. Still, I could barely keep my mind on my work.
My shift ended when the lobby closed at three. Derrick was still deeply engaged in conversation with our bank manager. Well, that, and fending off flirtatious interruptions from a couple of my female coworkers. About the same time I had gathered my belongings, he shook off the giddy females and met me at my desk. “So are you headed to my mom’s place right now for the baking extravaganza?”
“I am. If I can figure out how to get there.”
“I happen to know the way.” He gave me a little wink. “Want to hitch a ride with me?”
My heart flip-flopped. From the cubicle next to mine I heard my coworker, Shawna, give a little cough. I could guess her thoughts: Say yes, girl!
And so I did. Five minutes later I was seated in the passenger side of his Dodge ram truck, headed to his mom’s house in the Memorial area. Under normal circumstances I would’ve been a nervous wreck, but his carefree conversation kept me at ease, as always. In fact, I found myself so comfortable around Derrick that I started to wonder why I’d ever been nervous in the first place.
When we got to her house, he introduced me to his mother. Nadine didn’t look a thing like her son. Where he was tall and solidly built, she was petite and almost as round as the cookies we were about to bake. She was also covered, nearly head to toe, in powdered sugar. I even saw bits of frosting in her hair. Not that she seemed to notice or care.
She wrapped her arms around me in a warm—albeit messy—hug. “Please forgive me,” she said as she led the way to the kitchen. “I’d like to say I don’t usually look like this, but I’d be lying.” A funny little laugh followed.
“It’s true.” Derrick nodded and laughed too. “There’s a white haze in the air all the time here, and it has nothing to do with the ozone layer.”
Sounded yummy.
Nadine gestured to several trays of adorable, baseball-themed cupcakes. “I’m just wrapping up an order for a Little League team. Let me put them away, and we’ll get this party going.” She glanced at Derrick, her gaze narrowing. “You scoot on out of here. You’re trouble in the kitchen.”
“What?” He feigned offense. “What are you talking about? You know I’m the best baker in this family.”
“Humph.”
“I plan to stick around and help.” He offered me a boyish grin. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Fine. Then suit up.”
“Mom, really?” He groaned.
“If you’re gonna stick around, yes.” She pointed at a baker’s rack with aprons hanging from the corner knobs. “You too, Mari.”
I’d imagined what Derrick would look like in a tuxedo. I’d even taken the time to find photos of him in his uniform online. But I’d never—repeat, never—pictured the guy wearing an apron covered in powdered sugar and bits of cookie dough.
Turned out, he looked pretty great in that too. And I must’ve looked okay after I slipped a hot pink-and-white “Let Them Eat Cake!” apron over my head, because he leaned my way and whispered, “You look like a pro, Southpaw.” All I could do was smile. Well, smile and listen as Nadine gave me instructions for the cookie dough.
Turned out, her recipe was a little different from mine—only one egg instead of two and baking powder instead of soda. Interesting. A bit more flour, too, so the cookies would hold their shape.
I mixed up three batches of the dough and then, at her instruction, put them into large zip-lock bags and placed them in the freezer to chill for a few minutes. While we waited, she prepped the royal icing. Or, rather, she had Derrick prep the royal icing. Turned out, the guy was pretty handy. Who knew? He kept a watchful eye on his whirring mixer, and I helped roll out the cookies and cut them to look like teacups.
A short time later, I rolled out more dough and filled a couple more trays while the first two baked in the oven. I couldn’t believe how much better Nadine’s recipe seemed to be working. If the woman had seen my attempts at home, she would’ve cringed. Or maybe not. Maybe she would’ve taken my mess, plopped it back into the mixing bowl, and reworked it with her magic fingers.