Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(104)

“No, but I can probably make pancakes.”

Her eyes widen, her expression brightening.

Ding, ding, ding.

“Pancakes, it is,” I say, gathering what I need. Truth be told, I could make pancakes in my sleep with how often I’ve made these things for Leo.

Sasha kicks her legs impatiently as I whip up the batter, her heels banging against the legs of the chair.

“You want some kind of something in these pancakes? We’ve got...” I glance around. Shit. “Looks like we have some chocolate chips.”

She gasps. “Can I? Please?”

“Yeah,” I say, grabbing the bag of chocolate chips, dumping the whole fucking thing in the batter.

As I wait for the pan to heat up, I grab a tangerine.

“Can I have some of that, too?” she asks, watching me.

I grab another tangerine and walk over, rolling it to her on the table. She picks it up, eyeing it warily, clutching it tightly as her gaze turns back to me. I peel my tangerine, tossing the scraps on the counter, and pull out a segment to eat as the pancakes start to cook.

“Ugh, how do you do this?” she grumbles.

I look at her as she claws at the tangerine, poking a hole, her finger going right through it as juice drips out onto the table. “Never peeled a tangerine before?”

“I don’t know,” she says, frustrated. “I just wanna open the orange.”

Laughing under my breath, I walk over again, taking the tangerine and starting to peel it, showing her how to do it so she can finish the rest. “It’s a tangerine, not an orange.”

“It’s not an orange?”

“It’s more of a mandarin,” I tell her. “They’re all citrus fruit, but tangerines are smaller than a normal orange.”

She glares at it, looking skeptical. “How does it taste?”

“Like an orange.”

She gives me a look that says, ‘Are you fucking kidding me? What was your point?’

I’m so preoccupied with the tangerine that I burn the first pancake, having to toss it out. I focus after that, still trying to wake up, stacking up nearly a dozen pancakes on a platter. As soon as they’re finished, I grab some plates and turn around, freezing when I look at Sasha.

The kid’s a fucking mess.

Juice drips from her chin, smeared on her face, even somehow finding its way into her unbrushed hair. Tangerine covers the table in front of her, clinging to her shirt, like she fucking bathed in the juice. She licks her fingers, not at all bothered, her eyes lighting up when she sees the pancakes. I slap a few on a plate in front of her, ignoring the tangerine as I give her a fork.

Sitting down across the table, I hand her a bottle of syrup, watching as she drowns the pancakes in it and dives right in. I eat some, just folding the fuckers over like tacos, not bothering with silverware.

If I thought she was a mess before, it’s got nothing on her now. Mess on top of mess on top of mess. Sticky syrup and melted chocolate cover her—on her hands, on her face, on her clothes. I watch incredulously as she drops her fork and jumps down out of the chair, licking her fingers once more. My gaze follows her as she heads straight for the fridge, leaving a chocolate covered handprint on the door handle as she opens it.

She doesn’t say shit. Not a goddamn word.

She reaches right inside, helping herself to a Capri Sun.

“Give me one of those,” I say, holding my hand out, a sticky juice pouch landing in my palm.

“You’re welcome,” she says right away, even though I hadn’t thanked her, and I almost feel a twinge of guilt over that—over forgetting my manners—until it strikes me she hadn’t thanked me for the fucking pancakes.

Yeah, I know I’m petty.

You don’t have to tell me.

Pulling the little straw off the back of the pouch, I take the plastic off and aim for the hole.

I miss.

Every fucking time.

I stab the air, I stab the pouch, I stab myself. I’m about to lose my cool and throw the fucking thing when I hear Sasha laugh. My gaze darts to her. She’s sipping her drink. She got her straw in the hole, no problem.

“I can do it,” she says, launching herself across the table, grabbing the straw from me. I surrender it, pushing the juice pouch at her. She shoves the straw right in before giving it back. “There you go!”

My gaze flickers between her and the Capri Sun. “Thanks, shortcake.”

She smiles widely, her voice soft as she says, “You’re welcome.”

“Oh my god.”

A voice cuts through the room, coming from the doorway, catching both of us off guard. Scarlet stands there, wide eyes watching us.

“Mommy, I ate chocolate in pancakes!” Sasha says, turning toward her, nearly falling out of the damn chair as she tries to shift out of the way, to show her mother her breakfast.

“I see that,” Scarlet says, strolling closer, grasping the back of the chair as she looks her daughter over. “Looks like you’re wearing it, too.”

Brow furrowing, Sasha looks down, like she can’t fathom what the hell her mother’s talking about. Plucking off a piece of pancake that’s stuck to her shirt with syrup, she pops it right into her mouth. Scarlet laughs with disbelief, hauling her out of the chair and onto her feet. “Why don’t you go find a bathroom and wash up?”