Chapter Sweet Treats for Sweet Treats
Sweet Treats for Sweet Treats
“Isa!”
Artem pressed his phone to his ear as he ducked through the doors of the Draakonriik’s embassy.
“My sweet,” he replied, nodding to the security personnel guarding the reception area.
A smile tugged his lips at the sound of his daughter’s clumsy fingers slipping on the cell phone.
“Did you miss me already? I’ve only been gone an hour. ”
Emilia made the funny breathing sound all over-excited children seemed to make. “Um, I had a question.”
Shocker.
His daughter was as intelligent as her mother, which meant there was hardly a minute of the day that went by without a question.
Normally she peppered Paloma with them as they huddled up in her lab, all cozy in front of the monitors, but sometimes she liked to pick up the phone to ask her father something.
It seemed to be happening more often lately, but he couldn’t complain. It was a privilege to be so loved by his child.
I can only hope I get as lucky with our second.
“You know I love when you call me, but I’m on my way into the office, my sweet,” he warned her. “I have an important meeting in a few minutes. If your question is a quick one—”
“I know I’m not s’pposed to use the oven,” she began in probably the most alarming way possible, “but if I wanna make a cake, how do I do that?”
Artem nearly stumbled in the hall outside his office. Sending a reassuring look to the staff who caught his odd movement, he ducked his head and hurried into his office. Speaking quickly, he demanded, “Is anything on fire, Emilia?”
“No,” she drew out. “I didn’t use the oven yet!”
A small sigh of relief escaped him. “Good. No ovens. Not after last time.”
“I remembered!”
“I’m happy to hear it,” he soothed. “If you want something, you should ask your mama. She’ll help you when she has a moment.”
“Mama’s in bed,” Emilia explained in that perfect little voice. “We were gonna make paper moons for the living room, but she doesn’t feel good.”
Artem winced. The urge to be back home in the nest, tending to his pregnant mate was a nearly insurmountable force inside him. Breathing deeply, he gently explained, “The baby makes your mama feel sick sometimes. She needs her rest, but—”
“If she throws up three times in a row, I’m s’pposed to call you,” she finished for him. “I know, Isa. She only threw up once and then said she needed a nap.”
Rubbing the back of his clammy neck, he sighed, “Okay, that’s good. I’m sorry, sweet, but your mama can’t give you cake right now. We need to take extra good care of her, and that means letting her rest.”
“I don’t want Mama to give me cake,” Emilia huffed. “I wanna make Mama a cake!”
“What?”
“After she threw up, she said she shoulda had cake for breakfast instead of eggs. I checked the fridge but we don’t have it.
” What sounded curiously like cabinets opening and closing came through the line.
“I ‘membered that Auntie Shiya taught me how to make a cake with flour and sugar and the oven, and then I ‘membered that I’m not allowed to use the oven, and then I ‘membered you said some things can be cooked in the microwave. Can you tell me how?”
Letting out an incredulous chuckle, he confirmed, “How to make a cake in the microwave for your mother?”
“Yeah!”
Artem’s chest squeezed hard. “I’m sure your mama would love that, but how about I bring home a cake from the city? The bakeries are full of them for the holiday. We can share it when I come home. I’ll only be a few hours.”
Emilia paused. Speaking in a soft, confused voice that never failed to get her exactly what she wanted, she replied, “But… she threw up breakfast. She needs to eat now, Isa. What if the baby makes her sick again?”
Then I’ll leave this damn meeting and fly home as fast as possible, he thought, rubbing his face. Who cares about a Burden’s Moon luncheon with the sovereign? I have better things to do.
But in his heart, he knew that wasn’t what Emilia really wanted. She was a giver, just as her mother and father were. Taking care of the people she loved was ingrained in her DNA. She didn’t want him to rush home to solve the problem because she’d already figured it out.
And as they’d learned, allowing her to participate and help take care of Paloma helped her feel more in control of the uncertain situation that was preparing for a new sibling.
If she could make her mother feel better, Emilia wouldn’t worry quite so much, and that was more important than the state he’d find his beautiful kitchen in when he returned home.
“Okay,” he said, crossing the room to deposit his briefcase on his desk. “I’m going to need you to get a piece of paper and a pen.”
By the time he returned home, snow had begun to blanket the spiky tips of trees and the land around their roost. The sun hadn’t set yet, but the sky was a deep, dark blue behind the thick clouds. A storm was brewing.
Like always, the scent of it in the frigid air brought back the best memories of his life.
He’d been saved by his Chosen in the winter, and they’d welcomed their daughter into the world in the middle of a snowstorm that kept them inside for days. All the best things in his life came on the heels of winter, and that didn’t appear to be changing anytime soon.
His feet touched the platform for barely a moment before he hurried inside the atrium. “My sweets!” he called out, shaking the snow from his wings. “Where are my sweets?”
“Isa!”
Emilia’s little red body came flying at him at lightspeed. She was just a streak of darkening crimson, knitwear, and little bluejeans as she careened around the corner to slam into his legs.
Sweeping her up into his arms, he pressed a dozen kisses to her cheeks — one for every time he thought of her during the day. “My sweet, I missed you! How did—”
Wiggling to be put down, she cried,“Isa, you need to try my cake!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, “but I need to kiss your mama first!”
“She’s in the kitchen,” Emilia insisted. Tugging on his hand, she began to drag him with all the force her little body could manage.
Artem’s brows furrowed. “Why is she in the kitchen?”
Paloma wasn’t a bad cook, but in general she left those duties to him. The kitchen was his domain in the same way that the lab was hers. It was his pleasure to cook for his family, especially when she was busy growing a child in her body and making scientific breakthroughs at the same time.
“She was helping me clean,” Emilia explained. It turned out not to be necessary, since he had two eyes that were perfectly capable of seeing what had been done in his kitchen.
He stopped in the entrance, mouth agape, to stare at his grinning Chosen. She stood by the sink, a sponge in hand. All around her was… chaos.
Flour, every measuring cup they owned, half the spice cabinet, and approximately twelve mixing bowls were scattered around the room. Nearly every surface was either sticky or powdered, and it looked like the inside of the microwave had been used as the container for a catastrophic experiment.
Snickering at his expression, Paloma set her sponge aside. “We wanted to clean up before you got home!”
“I… left early,” he wheezed. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to step inside the destroyed room to sweep his Chosen into his wings. Lowering his head so he could whisper in her ear, he asked, “How are you feeling?”
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she answered, “A ginger ale and some saltines fixed me right up. I’m fine.”
“Good,” he sighed. “But what happened here? This isn’t all from a cake, is it?”
“She said you told her how to make it,” Paloma whispered back, obviously delighted.
“I didn’t tell her to set a bomb off in the kitchen!”
Paloma tenderly tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Oh, you’ve done worse. Remember when you tried making candy?”
Before he could argue that he’d never done anything on the level of pure devastation that had visited his favorite room in the house — besides their nest, of course — Emilia tugged on his pant leg.
“We saved you a slice!” she chirped, as proud as he’d ever seen her.
Artem reached for the plate a half a second before his brain caught up with his eyes. “Ah,” he choked, tentatively accepting her offering. “My sweet, why is it green?”
“She added food coloring,” Paloma solemnly explained. “It was a masterful artistic choice to fit the holiday.”
He held the plate up to his face for closer inspection.
A tiny, nearly flat slice of what looked more like a sickly green pancake sat in the center.
A heap of powdered sugar had been piled on top in lieu of icing, and when he gave it a sniff, the scent of cinnamon was so strong he had to fight back a sneeze.
Glancing at his Chosen, he found her watching him with her lips rolled between her teeth and her eyes sparkling. He knew that look well. It meant he was in for trouble.
Summoning a wide, impressed smile, he turned to his daughter. “It looks incredible!”
“Try it!” she demanded, hopping from little red foot to little red foot. “You need to try it!”
Bracing himself, he lifted the wet, spongy triangle from the plate.
The texture hit him first. Then it was the spice.
Artem struggled to get it down, but he’d be damned if he let it show on his face — even if his Chosen was quietly laughing at him.
“S’delicious,” he mumbled.
“I’m gonna bring it to the Moonset potluck,” Emilia exclaimed, chest puffing.
“O-oh,” he choked, trying to ignore the way Paloma had hurriedly turned around to face the sink. Of course, he could still see her shoulders shaking, which really negated the gesture.
Setting the rest of the uneaten slice on his plate, Artem sank onto his knee to pull Emilia in for a hug. He had to clear his throat first, but he managed to rasp out, “I think that’s a great idea. How about we do it together next time?”
“Okay,” she replied, “but Mama gets the first slice!”
“Of course she does,” he agreed, sending his grinning Chosen a look that promised retribution. “My sweet treat gets first dibs on all sweet treats. Especially the green ones.”